Shades of Revan
by schally
Summary: Upon learning her identity, Revan is unrepentant of her past but determined to destroy the Star Forge. Those that fight with her must come to terms with following a Jedi who is neither dark nor light, but somewhere in between.
1. The Good Soldier

**The Good Soldier**

"_I do not believe the Jedi Council changed Revan, as they claimed. They merely stripped away the surface, and allowed the true self to emerge again - someone who was willing to wage war to save others." - Kreia_

0-0-0

It wasn't until the Jagi incident that Carth Onasi realized the depth of his feelings for the woman he would later come to know as Revan.

Jagi and his mercenary backup lay dead; the suns were at their high point in the sky. Wind kicked up hot Tatooine sand as Carth methodically stripped down one of the two dead Rodians, pocketing their weapons, ammunition, and medical supplies as had become the routine. He glanced up, squinting in the sun glare, and saw Canderous still standing over Jagi, the blaster rifle still clenched in his large hand, still pointing—his arm was shaking, his gaze locked on Jagi's corpse.

Beside him, Revan reached over, touching his arm lightly with a gloved hand. The shaking ceased, and the pair exchanged a look. She withdrew.

A sudden, white-hot stab of jealousy fired through Carth's brain. It wasn't the touch, he decided later. They were a crew of seven and the Ebon Hawk was a small ship. Brushes, touches, and other invasions of personal space were commonplace. He knew Canderous had accidentally walked in on Revan in the shower more than once. They'd laughed about it later. Carth hadn't felt possessive then.

No, it was the look. An understanding had passed between the Mandalorian and the Jedi. The fact that they had a special bond should have been no great surprise. Carth couldn't count the number of times he'd found the pair together in the Ebon Hawk's garage, Canderous cleaning the weapons while Revan tinkered with the droids.

But the jealousy was there, irrational though it was, and as it licked at his heels Carth accepted that this was the first time since his wife's death that he'd truly coveted a woman's touch. Canderous hadn't noticed, and if Revan had, she didn't say so. They stripped the mercenaries and left them to the wraids and the elements. They buried Jagi, unmolested, in the hot sand.

0-0-0

The bridge of the Leviathan was strewn with Sith. Only one was still alive.

Saul Karath coughed up blood as he lay dying. His uniform collar was ringed with sweat. Carth stood over him, blasters ready, but he did not allow his trigger fingers to tighten that last fraction of an inch.

Revan—though she wasn't Revan to him _yet_, that was still a few seconds away—said, "Let him go."

By, "go," she meant, "die."

"Carth," Saul croaked. Carth leaned forward, cocking his head as his former commander murmured the truth. Then Saul laughed, a truly bitter sound, and died.

"No, no... it isn't-" Carth said. "It can't be. Bastila, is it true?"

"Carth, we don't have time," Bastila said, glancing at Revan. "We must hurry."

"It is true. You knew all along," Carth said. "This whole time-"

"Carth, please!" Bastila said. "Malak is coming!"

"Knew what?" Revan asked, and the words stopped them both in their tracks. There was a fine, cold edge to her voice. The look in her face gave Carth a chill—Bastila too, it seemed, for the Jedi Sentinal's expression grew wary as she slipped into a battle stance.

"We must escape now," Bastila said firmly, her hand hovering near her lightsaber.

Revan acquiesced without argument, but Carth would never forget the icy, penetrating look the older Jedi had given the younger. There was no mistake: Revan _knew._

That was the first blow. Then they lost Bastila, and that was the second.

Revan did not ward these well. The weight of the events of the past few hours was evident as they ran through the Leviathan's empty corridors towards the hangar. Though he wasn't a force adept, there were times when Carth felt he could sense the aura of the Force around Revan. Often it was light and energized, sometimes playful, always alert, but now it was moody and oppressive and still. Her upper body was tensed as though she strained against an invisible weight. He made sure she was in front of him and in his line of sight for the entire return trip.

When they boarded the Ebon Hawk Mission took one look at Revan and screamed. Carth couldn't blame her, the Guardian was a troubling sight—bruised, burnt, covered in blood, armor scorched, clothes ripped and in tatters, her stance a taut line of danger. But it wasn't until Mission saw there were only two of them that she really began to panic.

"Where's Bastila?" the girl demanded. "What happened? Where is she?"

They escaped, off and into hyperspace. Once the immediate danger was gone the questions came pouring in, mostly from Mission. Jolee and Juhani exchanged uneasy glances. They were all looking at Revan. They were all waiting.

"If you don't tell them," Carth said, "I will."

Revan swallowed. It was a nervous gesture and he'd only seen her do it once or twice before. Her gloved hand curled on the console, reflexively, then relaxed. "I'm Revan," she said. No build-up, no hedging or weaving. Just the short, simple fact. It had always been her way.

Carth scanned for the crew's reactions. Jolee Bindo closed his eyes, briefly, and nodded; the old man had known, or at least suspected.

Canderous nodded too, but he maintained eye-contact with her. "The Jedi-" he began.

"Lied," Revan said, bluntly. "They wiped my mind and filled the void with artificial memories. Over time, fragments of my old life have started to come back to me. Not a lot, but enough to know there was more to my past than Republic soldiering."

Mission piped up, her voice a little too quick and a little too loud. "Hey, what's the big deal, right? I mean, you're still the same person we met on Taris, you know? You're still the person that helped me rescue Zaalbar. We got off Taris together. We're friends! Who cares if you did a bunch of stuff years ago you don't even remember? We gotta live in the present!"

Zaalbar growled softly. They were still bound by his life debt. This information changed nothing.

Juhani was silent, pensive. She met Carth's gaze. Carth looked away.

"Bastila sacrificed herself so we could escape," Revan said. Carth felt the implicit meaning in this statement was directed squarely at him.

Revan seemed to be waiting, but no one else spoke. After a moment, she left for the showers, and no one followed.

0-0-0

It took the crew several days to regroup and resupply. Carth confined himself to the cockpit and the drudgery of routine ship maintenance. Bastila's absence was felt immediately. The co-pilot's chair was glaringly empty.

Carth had grown to like Bastila. She'd kept him company many long hours and he'd been grateful for it. They'd talked about many things, but upon reflection he realized Bastila had always been careful to steer the conversation safely away from Revan. Surely she had sensed he was falling in love with the Sith Lord.

Why had Bastila and the Jedi Council done this? Bastila was captured and the enclave at Dantooine destroyed. There was no one left to answer. No one except Revan.

Carth wasn't ready for that. They would have to talk eventually, but for now he avoided her (if you could even do such a thing on a ship as small as the Ebon Hawk) and she permitted it. His only encounters with her, in those first few days, were second-hand: overhearing bits of conversation and overseeing small exchanges between Revan and others.

He'd almost walked in on an argument between Revan and Juhani in the hold. The Cathar was lashing out, peppering Revan with heated words, every line of her body exuding anger. Revan listened, and when the diatribe concluded she simply reached out and folded Juhani to her.

The Cathar initially stiffened, but after a moment she relaxed into the hug, allowing her anger to seep away. She murmured something too low to overhear and Revan murmured back. It was an intimate moment. Carth backed hastily out into the hall, embarrassed at having witnessed it and bothered that those soothing words and that loving embrace had not been offered up to him.

He found himself the unintentional eavesdropper again, later that night, when he went to the engine room. As he approached he heard Jolee's voice, unusually soft, drift out of the garage.

"You loved him?" the old man asked.

"Even worse," Revan said. "I thought he loved me."

Carth knew exactly who they were talking about, though he wished he didn't. He recalled his solitary meeting with Malak during the Mandalorian Wars. Malak had been a friendly, likable man. It was shortly after their introductions when then-Commander Dodonna asked Malak about Revan. Malak replied that Revan was well, but there was something small in his manner, in his tone, that betrayed his affections.

The Dodonna and the other Commanders exchanged knowing looks. Discrete smiles. Everyone knew about Revan and Malak.

Carth hadn't returned to his bunk after that. He'd gone to the cockpit and sat, watching the stars, until he fell asleep in the pilot's chair.

The next day she finally approached him in the cockpit. He'd spent the past night mulling over what he would say and how the conversation would go, but when she entered his space he felt unprepared to deal with what was coming.

"We need to talk," Revan said.

"I'm all ears, beautiful," he replied, but the words sounded forced, even to him.

Revan took the co-pilot's seat. "I want to tell you I didn't know, but that's not quite true. I think, deep down, I always knew. When the computer on Kashyyyk recognized me, and what Master Vrook said about the Dark Lord returning..." She let it hang. Eventually, she said, "I had suspicions. The dreams of Bastila and Revan fighting seemed too familiar, too personal. Your reaction on the Leviathan, the way Bastila looked at me... I knew, then. It had to be true." She leaned back against the chair. "My false memories seem very real, even now. It's a strange sensation, having two lives slapped atop one another like paint on a canvas. Does that make sense?"

"Yes," he admitted. "It does. It can't be an easy thing to deal with. If I were in your position I don't know what I'd do."

A silence stretched between them. "The others are managing, I think," Revan said, finally. "They don't have much of a choice. We've come too far to turn back now."

"Canderous seems pleased," Carth said, feeling childish and not caring.

Revan took it in stride. "I'm not worried about what Canderous thinks," she said, giving him a direct look.

"Let me guess. You're worried about what I think?" Carth asked. Revan nodded. "I'm not sure what I think. You were—are—a powerful Jedi and you fell to the dark side. You turned on the Jedi and the Fleet and waged war against the Republic. It could happen again. Can we really be expected to trust you?"

"Can I be expected to trust you?" Revan asked. "You had your blasters trained on my back the entire way back to the Ebon Hawk."

A surge of anger welled up inside him and he let it infuse his words. "After what I'd just learned, can you blame me? We've been fighting against Malak and the Sith and the whole time we've had his old master right here with us. How do we know that you really want to destroy the Star Forge? Maybe you're just biding your time until you can take it back for yourself."

"You really think that?" Revan asked. When he didn't answer she said, "I've never lied to you, Carth. I've never pretended to be something I'm not." She looked out the window. "I never got that kiss," she added, almost wistfully.

That threw him. "This is not—this is not the time for that," Carth said. He was still angry, but the anger had lost some traction. "We're talking about you being a Sith. Not just any Sith, but the Dark Lord of the Sith. How the Jedi Council could have done this, I don't know. This is beyond serious."

"I know it is," Revan said. "The truth's out, now. You know who I am, who I was. You know the worst I'm capable of." Her tone changed: sardonic. "I'm the big, bad Dark Lord. The one that deserves to die, remember?"

"Don't be flippant," he said.

"I won't apologize for what I was—what I am. My intentions are the same as they were a week ago and a week before that. The Star Forge must be destroyed. Malak must be stopped. That is a fact."

Carth didn't answer.

"You need space. I get that. Just tell me one thing. Does this end what's between us?" Revan asked. She was leaning in towards him, focused and intent. She was a close-talker, always had been. He'd attributed it to her career as a soldier, living in cramped quarters on small ships, and to her intense force of personality. Normally he didn't mind, but now it made him feel uncomfortable and boxed-in.

He didn't know what to say to her. He just knew he felt cramped in the cockpit. He moved to stand and she grabbed his arm.

"Carth, please. It took me hours to work up the nerve."

He pulled his arm from her grip, slowly, but caught her hand in his before their touch was completely severed. "The General that defeated the Mandalore in single combat is afraid to talk to me?" he asked, his tone softer now, more normal.

"You could really hurt me if you wanted," she said.

He released her hand.

"I can't hate you," he said. "I tried... I wanted to hold you responsible for all the things you've done. But I can't..." He shook his head. "I just need a little time, beautiful."

She accepted this with the barest of nods. "Bastila was a great source of strength to me. Right now, I need all the strength I can get. Will you help me?" she asked.

"I want to," he said.

0-0-0

The holomap sprang up, showing Dreshdae as a blinking dot on the surface of the barren planet. Throughout their mission Revan had been avoiding the Korriban issue, but now there were no options left. They needed the final star map. It had to be Korriban.

Revan's reluctance to set foot on Sith soil had not been overlooked. Carth suspected it was further evidence of the old Revan's memories breaking through. Revan remembered Korriban. It had obviously not been a pleasant experience, even for a budding Sith Lord. He wasn't sure if he should be comforted or worried by that.

Mission started to call Revan by her former name, the name the Jedi Council had given her, but Revan cut her off before the first syllable was even finished.

"The name is Revan," she said. She had that way about her at the moment—that cold, aloof bearing the more powerful Jedi sometimes cloaked themselves in. A flicker of hurt ran across Mission's face at being reprimanded and Revan noticed. "If you call me Revan," she said, more kindly, "I'll let you win the next game of Pazaak."

"You never _let_ me win," the Twi'lek insisted. "I always win because you're just the worst Pazaak player ever," she said, and added, as an afterthought, "Revan." She was trying the name out for the first time. Trying to see how it fit.

"That's a heavy yoke," Jolee said.

"I've earned it," Revan said crisply.

They decided that Mission and Zaalbar would stay behind and guard the Ebon Hawk. Juhani straightened, preparing to volunteer, but Revan shook her head slightly. The Cathar stepped back without argument.

"I suppose I'll tag along," Jolee said. "Someone has to protect all those poor Sith from Jedi tyranny."

Unexpectedly, Revan smiled. "I wouldn't want you to strain yourself, old man."

"Bah. I'm elderly and don't have much life left. Don't take my little pleasures from me."

Carth expected that Revan would recruit Canderous as well and was surprised when she said, "Carth?" her body unconsciously leaning towards him.

He nodded. Canderous didn't argue, but noted that if Revan, "wanted something done right," she knew where to find him.

They prepared quickly and efficiently. By now these planet-side excursions were routine. Carth was finishing up in the cargo hold when he overheard Revan and Canderous talking as they passed by.

"...the mission is in danger of failing, you know what to do," Revan was saying. "It's not fair to ask this of you, but the others may hesitate. I know you won't."

"Is it-" Canderous cut himself off.

"What?"

"You're in charge," the Mandalorian said shortly.

"I am," Revan agreed. "Speak."

"Is it wise to take Republic with you?" Canderous asked. "If you're worried, I should be there."

Revan paused. "I need him with me," she said.

"Whatever you say. I'm here if you need anything."

When Carth emerged from the cargo hold he saw the two standing in the entrance to the garage, each gripping the other's forearm in a gesture of farewell. Carth met them at the doorway.

"We should get going," he told Revan. "The sooner we get off this planet, the better."

He had no idea.

0-0-0

Carth had never been to Korriban before and venturing onto the planet's sandy surface was no treat. Tatooine was arid, but it was a dry heat and being outdoors was often enjoyable in the early mornings. On Korriban the atmosphere was thick and oppressive. The sand stung the skin like small particles of glass. Sand storms were frequent and sudden and the sky was constantly overcast. It was little wonder Dreshdae was the only large city on the surface.

"This may explain why the Sith are always in such a bad temper," Jolee said.

"You think this is bad," Revan said, "wait until you try the food."

The Sith were vile, their academy was vile, and the errands they ran to gain prestige were vile. All of the Tombs of the Sith Lords were vile, but the Tomb of Tulak Hord was the worst, in Carth's opinion. Whatever levity they had possessed upon arriving on Korriban was drained dry by the time they made their way through the tomb.

Carth didn't remember being gassed. He was moving, then he wasn't, and when he awoke it seemed as though he'd been sleeping for an age. His movements were sluggish and his vision blurry. He groped for his blaster, found it, and was struggling to sit up when Revan began to scream. She sounded very far away.

Carth snapped to alertness immediately and saw that Jolee had done the same. The screaming was behind the sealed stone door before them. After trying, and failing, to get the door open, they drew their weapons and slowly, methodically began to chip away at it. They'd made some progress when the screaming stopped and, in moments, the distinctive crackle of a lightsaber could be heard.

Soon, even that sound stopped. When they finally forced the door open, Revan was on the floor, covered in blood and grime, panting. The body of an old Sith lay nearby, charred with tell-tale lightsaber burns, and the body of Mekel was to her intimidate right. Mekel was barely recognizable, his clothes and skin seared nearly black. Steam was still rising from his corpse.

Carth went to her, stumbling over rubble, but when he reached her he felt unsure. He hesitated, hovering at her side, not touching her.

"Mekel," she said, breathing heavily. "Turned on me at the end."

"A life of constant betrayals is no way to live," Jolee said, looking down at the young Sith's body with something like pity.

Revan stared at the charred corpse, her jaw tense. When she looked away, her face crumpled. "I can't do this," she whispered, and for a brief moment she was no longer a charismatic and powerful Jedi Guardian bristling with the Force. She was a thirty-something woman, alone and bloody in a dank tomb, with the weight of the past bearing down on her.

Carth was stunned. He had never seen Revan like this. Even on the Leviathan, naked and abused, she'd emanated Jedi self-control, restraint, and power. She'd looked their torturer, Saul Karath, in the eye until the moment she lost consciousness. But now she couldn't look at the Sith on the floor, or Jolee, or _him_.

"The dark side is so comfortable," Revan said. "And so easy."

He knelt, taking her by the shoulders. "Listen to me. That's not you. Whatever darkness... whatever darkness must surely be inside you, that's not who you are."

"Oh no?" she asked. She smiled. It didn't reach her eyes. "You forget who I am."

"No," he said, forcefully, "I haven't. I know exactly who you are. I've been with you, I've seen what you've done. I've seen you struggle, I've seen you resist. I know there's goodness in you; that's why you fight so damn hard."

"Bastila's gone," she said. She looked away from him again. "I'm not strong enough. I can't do this alone."

"You're not alone," he said, turning her face. He pressed his mouth to hers, kissing her roughly, passionately, and she responded. He was only dimly aware that they were alone as he pulled her to him, pressing the line of her body against his own, feeling her heat through her blood-stained clothes. The kisses deepened, becoming more passionate, more desperate, and he was working off her armored vest. She reciprocated, her fingers sliding down his chest, fumbling with the straps of his own armor.

They both seemed to remember where they were and what they were doing at the same time. They were in the tomb of Tulak Hord, with dead Sith at their feet, surrounded by ruin. Revan pulled away first. "Not here," she said, breathy.

"When?" he asked, his voice husky and guarded. His hand lingered on her waist, tugging gently at the last strap of her vest.

"Soon," she said, and he saw that she meant it.

When they ventured out into the hall, having collected themselves and whatever salvage they could carry, they found Jolee stripping components from a fallen droid. He stood as they approached, stashing the parts in his pack.

"We should return to the ship and rest," he said, as though nothing had happened. "When you give those tablets to Uthar he'll click his heels together and do a little jig. I expect you'll have impressed him enough to take the final test. They'll probably make you go alone. You'll need your strength."

There were no arguments. As they trudged past the Academy doors the front guard waved to them. He liked Revan. All the Sith liked Revan.

0-0-0

"Soon," as it turned out, was sooner than Carth could have hoped. Shortly after boarding the Ebon Hawk and unloading their gear they ended up in the cargo hold, door bolted. Urgency coursed through them. They coupled mostly-clothed, standing up, sand still clinging to their boots.

Being with her this way, with this level of passion, was overwhelming. He came almost immediately. He was older now and normally only had one round in him, but the aura around her was energizing and the hot press of her lips to his made him ready again. This time he held out until she came, her body clenching against him, and he quickly followed. They collapsed together against the metal bulkhead.

"Excellent choice of locale," he murmured in her ear. "Much sexier here." She laughed softly, her face bright with the flush of sexual release.

They parted ways at the door, Revan going to the showers while Carth waited, watching her retreating figure until she disappeared around a bend in the hallway.

0-0-0

Jolee had a few tricks under his belt when it came to bringing people around to his way of thinking. Revan, of course, had no trouble convincing people to do what she wanted to do and that it had always been their idea. This was partly how they came to be in possession of a small supply of kolto.

The truth was that the Port Official had to sell the kolto to _someone_. Now that the Sith Base was closed and a large percentage of the Sith population was either dead or missing, many of his smuggling contracts had evaporated and he still, he reminded them, had many mouths to feed.

When they returned to the hangar with their cargo the Ebon Hawk was deserted; only the droids remained. Manaan was kind to tourists looking for recreation and the crew was taking advantage of it.

The empty ship was the closest thing to peace and quiet Jolee had seen since leaving Kashyyyk. He helped himself to a nip of Alderaanian brandy he'd managed to keep hidden from the others (namely Canderous, though he'd learned Carth wasn't above sneaking a taste when he thought no one was looking).

Revan took off her boots and stretched out to read. She'd been going through a stack of datapads for several days now.

"Wookie romance?" Jolee asked. "Those were always my favorite."

"It's a copy of the Sith Academy's archives," Revan said, handing a datapad to Jolee. "Courtesy of Yuthura."

"Oh?" Jolee asked, raising his eyebrows as he scanned the small screen and noted this entry was on the war. "Admiring your handiwork?"

"Yes," Revan said, unruffled. "I traced my entire campaign to present. It was very neatly planned. I avoided seriously damaging any major resource planets, maintained major shipping lines, and crippled military targets while minimizing damage to resources and armaments."

"It sounds like you thought of everything," Jolee said, setting the datapad down.

"Out with it, old man."

"Don't get grumpy with me. You should respect your elders."

She waited.

Jolee took another sip of brandy. "It's unusual that you weren't better prepared for your apprentice's betrayal. It seems to have caught you completely unawares."

Revan picked up the datapad, but stared at it without actually reading it; apparently she had only needed a focal point for her gaze. "I've thought about that," she said.

"I would be interested to hear your conclusions," the old Jedi said.

"I remember he tested me once. He lost that duel. I must have assumed..." She frowned. "Shooting from afar is-was-very unlike him. He was never cunning like that."

"The dark side seems to have that effect on people," Jolee observed.

"The dark side is a tool," Revan said shortly. "A dangerous tool, but a tool nonetheless. Any tool can be used to effect, provided it is used carefully and wisely."

"Ah. And you used it effectively? Carefully? Wisely?"

"I did," Revan said, without hesitation.

"But Malak did not."

Revan fell silent. After a few moments she said, "The Jedi Council didn't change me. They've merely skimmed the cream from the surface. Vrook was right, in a sense. I'm the same as I was. There is only one difference. Before, I had a plan that was working. Now that plan is in someone else's hands and it's not working. It must be truncated before more damage is done. I never intended for the Republic to be destroyed. Only reshaped." She tapped the datapad. "That much is evident."

"Why?" Jolee asked.

"It has to be made better. Stronger."

"Again, why?"

"I don't know." She turned on the hologram for the star map locations and the location of the strange unknown planet sprang up as a bright blue dot. "There's something out there," Revan said, dropping the datapad on the table. "I can feel it."

0-0-0

The surf and the sand were beautiful. If it weren't for the hulking carcasses of ships that dotted the island, it would have been perfect.

"This wouldn't be a bad place to live," Carth said, rolling over.

"One problem," Revan said. "Nothing to eat but rancors and coconuts."

He smiled at her. "You've already put some thought into this."

They were near a cliff overlooking the beach. They could see the Ebon Hawk, stark in the white sand. Misson and Zalbar were tiny insects exploring the rocky shore.

Revan propped herself up on one arm and gazed out at the horizon. Her legs and buttocks were sprinkled with sand and her robe was a tangle at her feet. Her hair was windswept and fluttered in the slight breeze. If he could keep her this way forever, he would. But there was no forever and the Star Forge was waiting.

"How do you feel?" Carth asked.

"Nervous," she admitted. "I don't want to face him again. I definitely don't want to kill him. But if I know Alek-" She stopped.

Carth had never heard her call Malak by this name. He waited.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't be telling you this."

"No, I want you to tell me," he said. "I want you to be able to tell me things. You've pried everything out of me, so it's only fair."

She laughed a little, but it was mostly reflexive. "It's not just him. Confronting Bastila will be dicey."

"Juhani is optimistic," Carth said.

"Juhani is a simpler person," Revan said. "Bastila is... complicated."

"Whatever happens, we're with you," Carth said. "I hope you know that."

Revan broke eye contact first. She gazed down at the beach, watching as Mission splashed in the surf. "I know," she said.

0-0-0

"Had enough?" Canderous asked, breathing heavily, a sheen of sweat on his face. The sand around them was deeply disturbed from their sparring. They stood in a circle of small dunes and footprints.

Revan nodded, wiping her forehead with the back of her sleeve. She'd been more aggressive than usual. He'd barely been able to keep up and he'd noticed she was holding back. It made him feel old.

She'd been looking much better since they left Korriban. Better rested, healthier, more energized. He didn't give Republic much credit; most of it, he knew, was a result of Revan coming to terms with her identity. He was glad. It would have been a waste for a soldier as great as Revan to turn her back on her glorious past.

Revan hooked both lightsabers to her belt and he sheathed his vibrosword. She was distracted. He'd noticed that, too.

"Worried?" the Mandalorian asked, walking alongside her up the Ebon Hawk's gangplank.

"Moderately," Revan said. When they entered the garage she went to the workbench and came back with a datapad. "I've been having dreams. Recollections of the Star Forge. I've drawn as much of the layout as I can remember." She handed him the pad.

Canderous scanned it, then nodded.

"You remember what I asked you to do before?" she asked.

"I remember," Canderous said, sitting down heavily. There was a perpetual pile of weapons to be repaired and he reached for it, taking a carbine off the top. He tinkered with it a moment.

Revan sat next to him. "Before, I asked you to act only if you felt the mission would be threatened. But being in the Star Forge for that long, surrounded by all that dark energy... it's too risky."

"Dark, light, what's it matter?" Canderous asked.

"You know it does. When it's finished, I need you to make sure it's finished. Promise me."

"I'm not your creature," Canderous snapped, turning away from her to toss a handful of spare parts onto the workbench.

Revan stayed where she was, silent, waiting.

He flipped open the carbine, removed the fuel cell, and added, "Why don't you ask him? Or is he too busy with domestic affairs?"

"Canderous," Revan said, and her hand moved slightly.

"No," he said. He pointed a finger at her. "Don't even try it. You want it done, you have to tell me why. Why it has to be me. I want to hear you say it."

"I need you," Revan said. "You're the only one I can trust. You're the only one I can depend on. Should I go down the list? Where do I start? HK can't go against his programming. Jolee would hesitate. Juhani-"

He grabbed the front of her robe. The movement was quick, but she brought her hands up fast enough to brace herself against his chest as he pulled her forward. She could have easily broken his hold—he'd seen her do it dozens of times in combat—but she didn't.

"Say it again."

She hesitated. Their faces were very close; he could feel her breath. She said, "I need you, Canderous. You're the only one I can trust to do this."

"Again."

"I need you."

He touched her face. Her skin was warm with the slight grit of dried sweat. She reached up to reciprocate, but he released her robe and brushed her hand away.

"That will make it harder, won't it?" he said. He flipped the carbine over, checking the chamber. "I'll do what you ask. When time comes, I'll do it right. You can count on me."

She left him. He sat alone for some time. When HK-47 clanked into the garage, Canderous said, "Get out," in a tone that left no room for misunderstanding.

Amazingly, HK had no acerbic retort. He merely rotated his head slightly, then turned to leave.

"Forget it," Canderous said. "Stay. Do whatever you were told to do."

"Statement: As you wish, meatbag."

Canderous pulled off the topmost layer of his armor and dropped it to the floor with a clang.

0-0-0

Force lightning crackled in the Star Forge command center and the air was thick with the dark side.

Malak ripped the energy from the immobilized Jedi nearest him and gained yet another wind. Revan did likewise, drawing out the life of another Jedi suspended in a tank, and that was the last one. There were no others to draw from now. They had been raging at each other for an eternity, it seemed, and both were now faltering.

Revan hurtled her lightsaber at him. He avoided it and closed the distance between them as it arced back to her waiting hand.

Malak grunted, bringing his blade down on her. She blocked it just in time with her off-hand—the right had been injured too badly to be of any use any longer.

Her force wave crashed into him, forcing him back, and he struggled to remain upright. He hit her hard with a direct bolt of force lightning and she fell to one knee. It was a gambit—he'd put everything he had into that last burst of energy.

He waited for her to topple, but she did not. After a moment she rose and lifted her lightsaber again.

Malak fought to meet her, but something deep inside him was broken. He stumbled, unable to raise his own weapon, and sank to the floor.

A long silence stretched between them, punctuated by their breathing and the thrum of her lightsaber.

"Alek," Revan said quietly. She sounded ancient.

"You remember my old name." He paused for breath. "I do not remember yours. Perhaps you were always Revan."

She was close. She could take his head, if she wanted to. She seemed to think about it, then slowly staggered back, her blade retracting.

"This end... should be no surprise..." he managed. "I was always the pawn you kept at hand. You were the one with the real power..."

"You were my friend," Revan said. "I loved you. I trusted you."

He processed this. His vision was hazy, and it seemed she had a glow about her. "It was like that once, wasn't it?" he mused. "I fell... too quickly. I allowed the dark side to consume me too completely. You held back. You were always the clever one. But did you really think you could hold such a thing by the tail?"

"We were going to build an empire together," Revan said. "We knew there would be sacrifices, but not this. We thought we were stronger than this."

"An empire... That destiny might have been yours, perhaps," he said, coughing. His breathing was even more labored now. "But it was never mine." He paused, collecting his last reserves. "You stand alone," he said. "In the end, as the darkness takes me, I am nothing."

Alek died.

It wasn't until she was sure he was gone that she allowed herself to collapse beside him.

0-0-0

Canderous dropped onto the floor of the command center, his boots clattering noisily on the metal floor. It was a gruesome morgue, the perimeter littered with the corpses of Jedi and Sith while the bodies of Revan and Malak lay close to each other near the center.

He cautiously made his way towards them. Malak was clearly dead, but Revan emitted heavy, wheezing breaths. She was otherwise motionless. Canderous knelt down, and when he leaned over Revan her eyelids fluttered.

Pale blue eyes gazed wearily at him under tired lashes.

"I failed," Revan said. This utterance was apparently a struggle; she caught her breath, still ragged, and fell silent.

Canderous watched her for a moment. The eyelids fluttered again. "Finish it," Revan said.

As he knelt there, gazing into those dying eyes, Canderous made a decision. He slung his repeating rifle over his shoulder and gathered Revan to him. She was dead weight and hanged in his arms like a doll. One arm jutted out awkwardly in a straight line, her cupped hand facing palm-up as though she were beseeching the gods that be.

"Promised," Revan managed.

"I know what I said," Canderous told her. There was more he wanted to say, in case she didn't make it, but the pain of being moved had apparently been too much—she was out cold.

He carried her off the viewing platform, down the empty corridors littered with the dead. He stepped over corpses as well as the lightsabers and rifles they had left behind. Occasionally the Star Forge would shudder, its lights flickering. The Republic Fleet was doing its work.

He passed a Sith Grenadier that wasn't quite dead. As the man struggled to rise Canderous kicked him in the face with a heavy armored boot and ended it.

He encountered Bastila on the second level and stepped back, preparing to fight, but when Juhani appeared alongside her he relaxed.

"We have to hurry," Bastila said, unnecessarily.

"Welcome back," Canderous said. Bastila searched his expression quickly for hostility or sarcasm and, finding none, nodded.

0-0-0

When the Ebon Hawk shot out of the docking bay and away, the Republic Fleet opened fire. Lasers rained down upon the Star Forge and the massive battle station slowly began to break apart, its destruction punctuated by explosions on all sides.

Carth Onasi saw none of it.

He sat next to Revan's inert form, watching as Jolee administered the last bit of kolto. The old Jedi muttered something about a tank, but added that once the kolto kicked in there should be a noticeable improvement in her condition.

Revan stirred, and murmured, "Alek," and Carth swallowed. He felt Juhani squeeze his shoulder, briefly, and wondered if she understood the name.

"It's Carth," he told her quietly, taking her hand. He was gentle; two of her fingernails had been ripped off and there was a deep gash in her palm.

"The balance is tipped one way now, but it can easily be tipped back," Revan said. Before Carth could reply, she was out again.

0-0-0

When Carth woke he was alone in bed. He found Revan sitting at the window, staring out at the Coruscant night sky, the city's glow casting a soft blue shadow against her bare skin. He touched her shoulders, encircling her in his arms, and she leaned back against him.

"What's the matter, beautiful?" he asked.

"Something is out there," Revan said, never taking her eyes from the stars above.

One night, when he reached over and found her side of the bed cold, he knew she was gone. He'd always known it would end this way. The foresight didn't make it easier.

She'd been courageous enough to defy the Jedi Council, to fight the Mandalorians, to seek the Star Forge and to ultimately destroy it. She hadn't been courageous enough to say goodbye. She'd taken the Ebon Hawk and the two droids and had flown to parts unknown. She told no one of her plans. She left no messages.

0-0-0

"Come in, son, come in," Jolee said, urging Carth inside. The small apartment that had been furnished to him by the Jedi Council seemed almost unlived in. Jolee had few possessions and had little inclination to become too settled, it seemed.

"Glad you could stop by," Jolee continued, bustling about the tiny efficiency kitchen. He set a pot of water to boil. "All these Jedi do is mediate and talk about reconstruction. It's about as stimulating as discussing philosophy with a Tach."

"I'm sorry I can't stay long," Carth said. "I have to admit, I didn't come by just to catch up. I wanted to ask if you'd heard about Revan."

Jolee's hand stopped in midair. It dropped to his side. "I figured it would happen sooner or later," the old Jedi said. "Revan has a wandering spirit. Heck, I have one myself. But I thought... Heh, listen to me. This is what a crazy old kook I am. I thought if Revan went on another mission she'd take me with her." He looked around the bare kitchen and a glimmer of sadness passed over his features. "I was hoping for one last adventure, to tell you the truth."

"They say Canderous is also gone," Carth said.

"Bah. He's not with her, if that's what you're hinting at. He went to Dxun, last I heard. He's trying to scrape together what's left of the Mandalorians."

"No word on Revan?" Carth persisted.

"Nothing terribly reliable," Jolee said, taking down two cups.

"Anything?" Carth asked.

Jolee sighed, filled one of the cups, added a pinch of leaves and handed it to Carth. "You can't chase Revan all over the galaxy and bring her back, son. It isn't like that."

"Jolee," Carth said. "If you have _any_ information-"

"There's a rumor that the Ebon Hawk was spotted in Dreshdae. I heard this several weeks ago, mind you."

Jolee steered the conversation away from Revan and Carth let him. They chatted amicably, sipping tea, and after some time Carth rose to leave, thanking the older Jedi for his hospitality.

"Carth," Jolee said, and it was the first time he had ever called the Admiral anything other than "son" or "whippersnapper" or "hey you." "Good luck. I don't think you'll find what you're looking for, but I hope you find something."

0-0-0

Carth arrived on Korriban only to find the Sith Academy in ruins, as sand-swept as the tombs in the valley below it. The locals all had the same story to tell. Revan came, Revan purged, and Revan left. The Sith dominated the barren planet no longer and the Academy was deserted. Only one person remained behind.

She was not difficult to find.

When Carth first encountered Yuthura Ban in the ruins of the Academy he startled her. She drew her lightsaber, pointing it at him in preparation to strike. Just as quickly recognition set it. The blade retracted.

"I remember you," she said, her violet eyes running the length of him. "She's not here. She hasn't been for some time."

"Where did she go?" Carth asked, keeping his distance. He kept his hand on his blaster.

Yuthura gestured vaguely. "The unknown. I wanted to go with her, but... stubborn."

Carth found himself agreeing with the assessment. "You seem different," he observed cautiously.

"I am different. I walk with the Jedi, now." She stooped to pick up a small object—a pottery shard, perhaps. "I stayed behind to salvage whatever artifacts remain." She surveyed the high-walled room. "There isn't much. We looted most of the tombs before Revan left."

"Did she say anything about..." Carth let the sentence hang.

"She said the Republic would be safe as long as Admiral Onasi and Bastila Shan were here to protect it. But she did not tell me where she was going or what she meant to confront, only that there was a darkness out there." Yuthura noticed his expression and looked away. "I'm sorry," she said.

0-0-0

"Dad," Dustil said, poking his head into the Admiral's study. "She's here."

Carth looked up. He'd been deeply engrossed in the fleet report and, being brought abruptly to the present, had a moment of confusion.

Dustil saw something in his father's face and added, quickly, "The Jedi, Bastila Shan. She's here on business and wanted to talk to you about an old droid you used to have."

The flicker of disappointment died like a candle being snuffed out. It was fading more and more quickly now as time passed and Revan did not return. She was gradually fading from his memory, much as Morgana had.

Carth nodded, putting down the datapad. "Send her in, if you don't mind."

Dustil hesitated at the door. His eyes were his mother's, but his face was very near his father's. "Dad, are you all right?"

What a question. Carth didn't know how to answer because he didn't know the answer. He gave his son what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "It's these damn reports. I've been staring at all those tiny lines of basic for so long I can't see straight."

Dustil smiled sympathetically and went to get Bastila.

Carth sat alone in his study, looking out through the large bay windows. The reconstructed skyline of Telos was studded with cranes and half-finished buildings. He closed his eyes, focusing, trying to summon Revan's face.

He saw her in his mind as she'd been on the unknown planet, naked in the sand, propped up on her elbows gazing out at the horizon. He had no pictures of her and she'd had no belongings to leave behind. His memories were the only evidence that remained of their time together. He clung to them, knowing they would inevitably erode, just as the monuments on Korriban and his wife's face. Already, Revan had been reduced to a presence in the bed next to him that was no longer there; a voice that called out to him in his sleep, but did not answer when he called back. In time there would be nothing left of her but whatever the Jedi Historians stored in their dusty archives.

"Admiral?" Bastila asked.

Carth returned to the present.

0-0-0

"_It would have helped had she made him understand, but a hero of the Republic, no matter how brave, cannot understand war as Revan did." - Kreia_


	2. The General and the Mandalorian

**The General and the Mandalorian**

_"Many battles does that one have left in him... as Revan intended. A general needs an army, as he needs those he trusts. And Canderous is a loyal beast, no matter how much he is broken upon Revan's will." - Darth Traya_

_0-0-0_

When Canderous reflected on their mission he could only think of her as Revan, even in the times before her identity had been revealed as such. The name the Jedi Council had given her was eroded in his mind. He wasn't sure if he'd ever uttered it. Even when dwelling on memories as far back as their early meetings in Taris she was, always and indisputably, Revan.

He did not remember much about their first encounter in the Lower City. He'd assumed she was yet another bottom-feeding bounty hunter or mercenary and hadn't paid her any mind.

It was only during their second meeting, in the Undercity, that he began to take note. He distinctly remembered her standing there, covered in filth and Rakgoul blood, surveying the area for danger. Seeing none, she turned her attention to him, gave him a once-over, and winked. He'd had his mind on business—he wanted to get the rest of his men out of there before they took any more casualties—but he noticed it. He couldn't remember the last time a woman-a real woman, not a dancer or a whore looking for credits—had winked at him.

On their third meeting he bought her a drink and asked her to take a little trip with him.

The rest was history.

0-0-0

After stealing the Ebon Hawk, it wasn't until they'd safely jumped to hyperspace that Canderous decided to allow himself the luxury of a shower.

It never occurred to him to knock.

When he walked in on Revan her back was to him, the water streaming down her body washing away the last few suds. "Shower's taken," she remarked, making no move to cover herself.

If he'd had the choice, he would have chosen to walk in on Bastila. The young Jedi was a natural beauty and underneath those robes were the hints of a shapely form. She was beautiful in spite of her haughtiness (or maybe because of it; Canderous knew himself well enough to acknowledge that the challenge of bedding such women was part of their allure).

Revan was battle-worn, her back and right side covered with heavy burn scars. She was fit but she looked older than her years. He suspected hard-living and the transient life of soldiery was to blame. Only later, when he learned of her identity as the Dark Lord of the Sith, would he realize this agedness was the lingering touch of the dark side.

Still, after years of warfare he was no prize himself and, like any good Mandalorian, he would never pass up an opportunity for spontaneous coitus.

"You missed a spot," he observed. "Need help?"

She laughed. It was a good laugh. She turned the water off, reaching for a towel, and said, "I like the tall, strong type. Rain check?"

"You got it," he said, and watched her depart.

0-0-0

Canderous first thought of heading out on his own during the stint on Dantooine. It was a very boring planet and, according to Bastila, it would take months, maybe longer, for Revan to train. He quickly became restless. He was bored with the farmers and their sob stories about kath hounds and mercenaries. There was no paying work, only chores and charity that the Jedi wanted done. He'd decided that as soon as another ship arrived he'd book passage. He figured Nar Shaddaa would be as good a place as any.

Several weeks passed and no other ships came. Bastila—crafty Bastila—had removed the navicomputer from the Ebon Hawk. He was grounded.

One evening he awoke to Revan's footsteps in the Ebon Hawk's dormitories. He hadn't seen her in nearly two weeks. He rolled over on the mattress. She was fussing with her robe and digging through the compartment they'd filled with womens' clothes.

She saw he was awake and said, "Where's Carth?"

"He went for a hike and didn't come back. He does that sometimes." Mission and Zaalbar preferred the apartments in the enclave, but neither Carth nor Canderous felt comfortable sleeping among the Jedi. That was one thing they had in common, at least.

Revan shed her robe, allowing it to fall around her feet like an old skin. Even in the dim light, the burn scarring stood out in stark relief. "I have to do something, anything, besides meditating," she said.

He was wide awake now. Having a naked woman in close proximity would do that. He watched her rummage through the clothes, then said, "I can think of a thing or two."

She glanced over her shoulder at him. She smiled. He smiled back. "Just for fun?" she asked.

"Whatever you want," he said.

In moments she was astride him and he was gripping her thighs as he thrusted. She threw her head back, her breasts a staccato of movement. Eventually they collapsed together, sweaty and satiated. He could feel her heartbeat hammering against his chest.

This rendezvous was followed by others. Planned meetings in secluded places in the plains. Unplanned meetings on the Ebon Hawk or the grounds. He detected no emotional attachment on her end. She'd kept her word; it was "just for fun."

Revan was an energetic lover and he appreciated her company. It was no surprise to him that she had a voracious sexual appetite. He'd expected as much; he knew the type and she was in her prime. But he was nearly twice her age and he knew from experience—for he had been with many, many women—that this arrangement wouldn't last forever.

He was right. Shortly before they left Dantooine, before Revan was given the mission of destroying the Star Forge, their encounters abruptly stopped. She was friendly with him, but all sexual undertones vanished from their conversation. He didn't press her on the point. She would either come around or she wouldn't. Meanwhile, all thoughts of abandoning the crew and striking out on his own were buried. She'd bound him to her.

0-0-0

The fan in the Ahto hotel room spun lazily, cooling his sweat. Canderous lay back for a moment, resting. The dancing girl disentangled herself from the sheets and headed for the bathroom. He leaned over, swatting at her buttocks, but she nimbly dodged him, scooping the credits off the dresser as she went. The door closed and, after a moment, the sound of running water could be heard.

He closed his eyes. When she passed him the second time she was dressed and tucking her hair into place, her purse clutched to her side.

"Was that enough?" he asked. He was getting soft in his old age.

The girl hesitated, wary, her grip tightening on the purse, but when he made no move to get up she said, "Yes. Do you want some water? Or-"

"No, no. Go on."

She nodded, straightening her dress, and opened the door.

Revan was standing out in the hall waiting. She exchanged a smile with the girl, who vanished into the corridor.

"Pretty," Revan remarked, not venturing inside. He wondered if she'd noticed the superficial similarities between them—eyes, hair, skin color.

"Too young," Canderous said. They were always too young. "What do you want?"

Revan took this as an invitation and entered. It was a reasonably nice hotel room. Not Ahto's finest, but nice. She settled on the arm of a large stuffed chair as he sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and stood. The sheets fell away. Revan didn't bat an eye.

"The Republic embassy asked Bastila and I to go down to Hrakert Station," she said. She tapped her fingernails lightly on the hilt of her lightsaber. "Will you accompany us?"

"Sure, I'll go," he said, entering the bathroom and leaving the door open. He splashed cold water on his face. "But you'll give me something in exchange."

"Such as?" Her tone would have been flirtatious if he were Carth, but he wasn't; her delivery was even and businesslike.

"I want to know why you're messing with the GenoHaradan."

She was obscured from his view, so he did not see her reaction. She said, "Checking up on me?"

"You know I do."

"The overseer had the impression that I would be a convenient pawn," Revan said, betraying a slight hint of irritation. She only tolerated manipulation when she was the manipulator.

"And?" he asked, toweling his face.

"I'm not a crude tool to be used to further the interests of others."

"You're a Republic soldier," he reminded her. "You further the Republic's interests."

"The Republic's interests are my interests," she said.

0-0-0

"The giant shark is calm now?" Bastila asked, glancing out the large viewing windows at the endless ocean encircling them. The form of a stunned firaxan shark was visible a dozen meters away, upside-down and inert in the meager light. Low visibility did not allow them to see father than that.

Revan nodded, a little wan, and stripped off the environment suit. She didn't like Hrakert Station. Canderous decided that being so far underwater unnerved her.

The scientists were waiting for them in kolto control. They'd heard the explosions; they knew which course Revan had chosen. Kono was livid.

"You destroyed mining station! This is going to set the Republic war effort back years! Do you have any idea how much time and equip-"

Revan backhanded him with a closed fist. The movement was expertly-contained violence—Kono's nose was enveloped in a shower of blood. Sami screamed and Bastila grabbed Revan's arm. Appearances were important to Bastila and she would never chastise fellow Jedi in front of others, but it was evident this act shocked her. Grabbing Revan's arm had been pure reflex.

"He didn't—he didn't mean it that way!" Sami said, pulling Kono away as he fumbled to staunch the blood pouring from his face, her voice trembling. "We're grateful you saved us! We're grateful for everything-"

They didn't understand. They misinterpreted the action as a sign of anger. In reality, Canderous knew, it was a disciplinary action meted by a commanding officer to an insubordinate. It was exactly what a Mandalorian would have done.

"Your mining station is worthless if the kolto supply is tainted or destroyed," Revan told them.

"Y-you're right," Kono said, his voice muffled as he held the cloth Sami had given him to his nose. "You're right. Thank you... thank you for what you've done. I-I'll just wait here..."

"We'll wait here until the official rescue crew comes," Sami said, her voice steady now but her look guarded, uncertain.

They were mostly silent on their way back to the submersible. Revan rapped loudly on the insane man's locker as they passed, saying, "We're leaving," but he continued to rant and rave about the "fishy fishies" and refused to come out.

As the submersible headed towards the surface Bastila cleared her throat and said, "That was a difficult mission, being in such an unwelcoming and closeted place. It was very taxing for all of us. Perhaps we could recite the Jedi Code together and clear our minds."

Canderous laughed. When Bastila turned in the pilot's seat to look at him, her dislike evident, he said, "Your brains are connected and you still don't get it. He was weak. He didn't have any sense. That woman was having to take care of him. It was pathetic."

"He may not be as strong as we are, Canderous, but we have a responsibility to treat him fairly and courteously no matter what he says or how he treats us."

"This is why people don't take you Jedi seriously," Canderous said. "What good is power if you don't use it? It's no wonder every cantina rat we meet tries to pull a fast one. You want to sit around chanting your magic words? Fine. But that one needed to be put in his place."

Bastila opened her mouth to retort, but Revan smoothly interjected, "There is no passion..." and they recited the mantra together. When they were finished neither seemed much changed.

Bastila faced frontward again, looking up at the looming surface. She drummed her thumb against the console. It was a nervous tic.

0-0-0

Ahto was too comfortable; a soldier could get soft there. Canderous was eager for the challenges of Tatooine. It was customary for a few of them to go ahead of the others and scout out the area. This time, Jolee and Bastila set out first. Revan and Juhani went to deal with the dock authorities. Carth and Zaalbar set about securing the ship.

For his part, Canderous was gathering up weapons and supplies to sell. He'd just collected enough to cover Carth's estimates for routine repairs when Mission's scream echoed through the Ebon Hawk. Zaalbar tore out of the hold and charged past him down the gangplank. Canderous grabbed his rifle, checked it, and followed.

The scene at the dock was a gristly one. Revan had both lightsabers drawn and crossed. On the ground before her lay Xor, his jaw completely severed. His cauterized tongue lay a few feet away on the ground. Juhani stood to the side, her knuckles white as she gripped her lightsaber. She hadn't drawn her weapon. She was talking to Revan, but Revan didn't seem to hear.

Zaalbar roared at Mission, who ran to him, burying her face in his fur. He ushered her back onto the Hawk, growling softly. This was not their concern. This was a Jedi affair.

Revan was oblivious to those around her. She raised a hand and Xor was lifted, choking, into the air. He squirmed grotesquely in her grasp, his limbs seizing. He should have been dead by now, Canderous knew, but she was somehow keeping him alive. At this rate the man could hang like that in agony for hours. Canderous had two realizations:

1. The ease with which she channeled the dark side suggested experience. He'd seen Jedi struggle with that power; she did not struggle.

2. She was no Republic soldier. She was something far more dangerous.

There were cautious steps behind him. Carth walked slowly onto the gangplank, his blaster drawn. When he saw Xor was completely defenseless he holstered the weapon.

"You're just going to stand there and watch?" he hissed at Canderous.

"If she thinks he should be punished, she's right," Canderous replied.

"Whatever he's done," Carth said, "he doesn't deserve torture. No one deserves that."

Carth walked down to her, but kept his distance. Dark energy seemed to throb around Revan; her veins pulsed under her skin. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, but maintained her Force grip on the dying man. He'd soiled his pants and urine dripped down his boot and onto the metal floor.

Carth looked down at the severed tongue, then spoke, his voice too low for Canderous to hear. Juhani was tense, apprehensive; she glanced quickly back and forth between the two.

Revan said something back—snapped it, from the look of it—and Carth responded. They went back and forth. Carth reached out, squeezed her shoulder, said something else.

Xor's body crashed to the ground.

It was over.

Canderous knew he was most useful to her as a man of action. While the others attempted to soothe her savage temper, he disposed of the body.

0-0-0

"Please don't tell Bastila," Revan said. She examined her wounded hand; Xor's blaster fire had burnt it badly. She would have to wait for Jolee to return. She was good at fixing droids, but not flesh. Carth handed her a bandage and she took it. "I wish you hadn't seen that."

"Seen what?" Carth asked softly. "That you're human? That you have emotions?"

"I can't afford to lose control like that. It could jeopardize the mission. I..." She laughed. "I'm not a very good Jedi," she said. "I'm not even sure I'm a very good soldier. Sometimes I feel like, at my core, I'm not as strong as I should be."

"Beautiful, you're one of the strongest people I've ever met. But even the strongest people need the help of others. If you feel yourself giving in to anger, turn to us. Bastila isn't the only one that's here for you."

Her shoulders relaxed. "Thank you."

He took her hand. Both seemed surprised by his impulse, but he didn't let go and she didn't pull away.

"It's taken care of," Canderous said from the medbay door.

"I'm sorry you had to do that," Revan said. "It was my mess. I should've-"

"Don't worry about it," Canderous said. He glanced at her hand. "He got you good."

She pulled away from Carth, flexing her raw fingers. Usually her laser-blot deflection was near perfect. "Yes. He kept saying all of those... things... to Juhani. I couldn't focus. When he actually hit me I lost it." She shook her head. "I should talk to Mission."

"She's in the dorm," Carth said.

When she left, the two men sized each other up. Carth spoke first. "Bastila doesn't need to know about this," he said.

"You're right," Canderous said.

They had nothing further to say to each other.

0-0-0

The revelation of Revan's identity was, in many ways, no surprise to Canderous. When he heard her utter it, her gloved hand closing into a fist on the console, he'd felt a rush of pride. He'd known she was different—more. He'd been right. He was almost always right.

The look on Republic's face—grim, unsettled, wary—was all wrong. Didn't he understand? They were destined for success, now. Following Revan would bring them nothing but triumphs. For the first time Jagi felt very far away in his shallow grave under the hot Tatooine sand.

Several of the others were unsettled and over the next few days Revan took the time to coax and coddle them, to smooth ruffled feathers. She didn't have to treat him like that. She knew where the real loyalty was. She knew who really understood.

In the days the Ebon Hawk hung uncertainly between the Leviathan and their final charted destination, Korriban, he only directly interacted with her once. He was leaning in the doorway to the medical bay, dealing with a minor gash that threatened infection, when he heard her walking down the corridor behind him. Everyone in the crew had a distinctive sound and he recognized them all. Revan's steps were confident and light, favoring the balls of her feet. She slowed as she approached and, in passing, lightly brushed his back.

They exchanged no words and he did not turn towards her. There was no need.

0-0-0

Canderous took a hotel room in Dreshdae, as was his custom, to have private space away from the cramped dorms of the Hawk before they left the planet. He was awakened in the morning by the girl he'd ordered, which was also customary. She was exactly what he'd asked for—the usual skin tone, hair, and eye color. They'd even gotten the age right, for once. Mid-thirties.

That was the problem. She was a little too close to what he'd described.

"No," he said, when she wasn't more than a few feet in the door. "Go back." He waved her off.

The girl hesitated.

"Get out. I'm not interested."

"You asked for-"

"I know what I asked for. Leave."

She swallowed. "I can't go back without... please, isn't there anything? Don't you want anything?" She moved towards him, loosening her robe, and he stopped her with a hand. She eyed him surreptitiously. "This is a trick."

"Get out."

She reached for him. "I could-"

He roughly grabbed her wrist. She let out a cry as he dragged her to the door and threw her into the hall. She hit the wall opposite and fell to the ground on one knee, catching herself with her right hand. Her robe bowed open and she hastily moved to shut it with her left. She looked up at him, her mouth a little "o" of surprise, and that was the last he saw of her. He slammed the door in her face.

He stood there for a moment staring at the closed door, then moved into the bathroom and splashed his face with cold water. He leaned against the basin, water dripping from his face into the metal bowl.

0-0-0

Canderous glanced up when he heard Revan's footsteps. She adjusted her robe as she crossed from the engine room to the hold, her hair in disarray and her face flushed. Canderous knew that flush well. After a few minutes Carth also left the engine room. He paused in the hall to smooth his jacket and, as an afterthought, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

They tried to be discrete, but the Ebon Hawk was a small ship.

"Republic," Canderous called, and Carth looked down the corridor at him. " I wouldn't be too self-satisfied if I were you," he said conversationally, checking the rifle's sight. "It's no skill of yours. Just process of elimination. If I were a younger man..."

Carth's expression soured slightly. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, tersely, "and you don't know what you're talking about, either." There was an edge of warning to it.

"Have it your way," Canderous said.

HK-47 clanked over, a box of parts in his arms. "Query: Will these be sufficient, meatbag?"

Canderous glanced over the box. "Yeah. Put it there." He indicated with his foot. HK-47 continued to roam the garage, but Canderous was so accustomed to the droid's metallic footfalls he hardly noticed.

Some time later Revan joined them in the garage. She'd showered and changed and only the slightest tinge of rosiness remained on her cheeks. She set to work tinkering with one of her lightsabers. She was constantly making modifications to her weapons and the droids. It was though she had a compulsion to endlessly change things around her.

"Here," Canderous said, withdrawing a small crystal from his belt and holding it out to her. He'd been saving it.

She was pleased as leaned forward to take it from him. She held it up to the light between thumb and forefinger and made a murmur of approval.

"Don't say I never did anything for you," Canderous said.

"You do everything for me," she said, levitating the lightsaber and slowly disassembling it.

"Not everything," Canderous said. Revan met his gaze, her weapon still hovering between them.

She thought on it for a moment. "You're-"

"Too old?" he interjected. He'd been brooding on it for weeks now.

The flicker of surprise that crossed her features was genuine. That mollified him a bit. She said, "No. I was going to say you're like him. You remind me of him." She lowered the lightsaber to the ground.

"You think I'm going to fire on you when your back's turned?" he asked.

"That's not what I mean," she said.

It wasn't like him to pursue this line of intimate questioning, but she was fresh from another man's embrace and he'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit it stung. "When did it stop being fun for you?" he asked, sounding harsher than he meant to.

"I always enjoyed being with you." This answer wasn't good enough, obviously. She added, "The Council slapped robes on me, put a lightsaber in my hand, and sent me out into the galaxy to win the big war. I tried to follow their rules, I really did. I know now I wasn't able to follow them the first time, either. That's comforting, in a way." She extracted the fuel cell, guiding it to her hand through the air, then said, "He keeps me honest."

"We're good together," he said mulishly.

"I know," she said. "A little too good."

0-0-0

Traveling alone on the Star Forge was easier than Canderous had expected. Most of the Sith's attention was drawn to the Jedi raiding parties moving across the first and second decks. Using a stealth field generator and the layout Revan had given him he'd had little trouble finding the viewing platform.

Getting inside was another matter.

The blast doors were sealed from the inside but he could still hear the faint strains of lightstabers in combat punctuated by bursts of force lightning. Revan had been right, this was the location of their final confrontation.

He found a ladder leading to a utility duct and took it, climbing up onto the narrow metal catwalk that circled around the perimeter.

His instructions were simple. Neither duelist would leave the platform. He would allow them to fight and when one remained he would finish the weakened victor.

It wasn't a sporting task, but a necessary one. Revan had been clear on that. She'd put all her faith in him alone to secure the end of their mission.

The muffled noise coming from the interior wall abruptly died. He quickly checked his repeating rifle—there could be no mistakes—and located a service panel that would give him entry to the platform. It was bolted in place and he set to work loosening it.

He kept thinking about Revan's palms pressed to his chest, her voice saying she needed him.

He did not know which victor he hoped to find.

0-0-0

Revan was strangely light in his arms. He walked behind Juhani and Bastila as he carried her, legs swaying, up the main corridor towards the Star Forge's hangar. The two Jedi were talking but he could not hear their words, nor could he hear the cacophony of sound that must surely be emanating from the failing Star Forge.

All he could hear was Revan's labored, heavy breathing. There was no other sound.

0-0-0

"Bastila, what a nice surprise," Canderous said. A miniature of the Jedi flickered on the console in his hotel room, her form riddled with static lines. He'd only just gotten a room here the night before, but he knew Courscant security forces were keeping a close eye on his movements and Bastila, in turn, kept tabs on him through them.

"Canderous," the Jedi said crisply. "Revan is gone. I understand you spoke recently. Did she tell you where she was going?"

The Mandalorian leaned forward, considering this bit of information, then said, "No, and even if she did, she's a grown woman. I'm not her keeper."

"This is very serious, Canderous. Jedi cannot simply abandon their duties."

"Tell that to the old man," he replied, and he could actually feel Bastila's frostiness emanating from the hologram.

"I see now that she didn't confide in you after all." This was, he suspected, intended to sting. "Goodbye, Canderous."

He didn't bother replying. She'd already ended the transmission, her miniature winking away and leaving the room semi-darkness.

He thought back to his last meeting with Revan a mere two weeks prior. That actually had been a nice surprise; the Jedi showed up unannounced and offered to buy him a drink. He hadn't refused.

They'd done a little catching up. He didn't have many war stories left she hadn't heard, but he told a few and she threw in a few of her own. Her personal story archive was growing rapidly now that her memories were taking firmer shape.

He replayed their conversation, going over her words, tone, and gestures in his mind. Revan hadn't given any indication that she would go on the lam soon, of that he felt certain. But as he replayed their talk again and again the bit about Kashyyyk began to stand out more and more starkly.

She'd mentioned Zaalbar's return to his people and, almost as an afterthought, added, "Kashyyyk is a place for secrets. It may be the only place in the galaxy where great things can truly remain hidden until someone worthy finds them."

He wasn't a sentimental man, but he'd kept the sole artifact from their travels together. He took out the Cross of Glory, which he kept in a small metal box among his things. As he turned the medal over in his hands, the light glinting across its smooth surface, he decided: he was going to Kashyyyk.

0-0-0

Canderous opted against taking a direct flight to the forest planet. He'd been aware for some time that suspicious eyes were upon him and now, with Revan's disappearance, someone would surely take interest if he blasted out of Coruscant immediately after hearing the news.

Instead, he planned a trip to several other Mid Rim planets and when he was certain he was not being followed he hired a private ship to take him to Kashyyyk.

Docking an unfamiliar vessel at the old Czerka landing port was dangerous business. Fortunately, the Wookies elected to ask questions first and shoot later. They were skeptical when he name-dropped Zaalbar and unmoved when he told them Revan had sent him.

He wasn't sure why he decided to show them the medal, but when he opened the small box, exposing the Cross of Glory to light, they exchanged looks and growls.

Four warriors escorted him to Rwookrrorro.

When he saw Zaalbar striding towards him, his own Cross pinned proudly to his bandolier, Canderous knew he was on the right path.

0-0-0

In the Upper Shadowlands Canderous encountered what must have been Jolee's hut. By now thick vegetation had grown over it, choking the tiny windows and camouflaging it among the roots of the wroshyr trees. The door was covered with vines, but it was new growth. Someone had been here fairly recently.

Inside he set up camp for the night. The layers of dust varied and it was evident the cooking stove, dining table, and bed had all been used in the past weeks. It could have been a Wookie scout, too tired from a day of hunting to make it back to Rwookrrorro, but he doubted it.

As he unpacked for the evening he found himself slightly missing Jolee. He'd gotten on well with the old Jedi. He hadn't seen him since the award ceremony—they'd been companions of necessity and never friends—but he'd liked him all the same.

After dinner, when he'd secured the perimeter, he took a moment to examine the hut more closely. It was spartan and cramped, about what you'd expect from a Jedi. There was a moderate collection of wood-carved animals on the mantle. It was clear Jolee had made these and had devoted a great deal of time to their creation though, oddly, he had never mentioned the hobby. A map was painted on the far wall, again Jolee's handiwork, illustrating the entire area in great detail. He was transcribing it to a datapad when he noticed a tiny x mark in the lower Shadowlands where someone had scratched away the paint. This, too, was added to his notes.

0-0-0

As it turned out, X did indeed mark the spot. It was raining now (amazing that rain could penetrate this far into the depths of the miles-high forest) and he'd spent half an hour digging into the freshly-packed earth in the corner of a dark glade. He did not want to risk damaging it, whatever it was, with tools, so he used his gloved hands.

He scraped metal and knew he was close. When he extracted the box it felt light. He wondered briefly if he was too late, if another had already found this place, and when he opened it, half-expecting it to be empty, he was stunned to stillness.

He stared at the mask for some time.

He lifted it gingerly, as though it were a delicate thing, though this couldn't be farther from the truth. The mask had survived thousands of years of war. He turned it over, feeling the ruddy gold surface in his hands, and put it to his face. Through the raindrops that speckled a nearby puddle he could see his refection, his eyes hidden behind the T-visor. The meaning of it all bubbled to the surface.

He was the Mandalore.

He would preserve.

He would unite.

And when Revan returned he would be ready.


	3. The Jedi Who Feared the Dark Side

**The Jedi Who Feared the Dark Side**

_"Bastila? The young Jedi holds great promise... and great danger." - Master Vrook Lamar_  
0-0-0

Of the seven Jedi that boarded Revan's flagship four remained. Bastila Shan led them to the bridge as they cut a swath through the Sith resistance. The two consulars flanked her easily, but the padawan guardian lagged behind—she was inexperienced and easily cowed. Bastila regretted bringing her on the strike team, but there was no turning back now.

Outside the bridge Bastila paused. The consulars readied themselves, the elder murmuring the code under his breath. The padawan held her blade up, poised to fight. Her hands were trembling. They rushed the door and the Sith before them fell under their blades.

Revan stood at the command deck, unmoved, her back to them. It was only when they had dispatched the last of the Sith that the Dark Lord turned, her dark cloak swaying almost rhythmically as she stepped down onto the deck.

Her lightsaber ignited in that familiar, terrible beam of red.

The padawan swallowed hard, sweat pouring down her face. "It's a—it's a trap-" she gulped and before any of them could react Revan jerked her gloved hand and the padawan's lightsaber was ripped from her grasp. Bastila narrowly avoided it as it snapped to the Dark Lord's off-hand.

The consulars charged the deck. Revan rushed to meet them, her blue and red blades clashing against their own. There was a rainbow of violence—purple, red, green, blue—and the older consular was slammed into the bulkhead with enough force to render him inert. His green saber extinguished and fell to the floor.

The second consular was frozen in a static-field as his blade arced up to strike. Revan kicked him squarely in the chest and he fell over, clattering to the ground face-first . A lone tooth skittered across the floor, sprinkles of blood dotting its path. The purple lightsaber was also extinguished.

It happened far too quickly. They hadn't been prepared for it to be like this. Bastila steadied her blade, focusing. Revan lifted her right hand, lightsaber still firmly gripped, and curled her index finger towards Bastila, beckoning.

What Bastila would never admit, not to herself or to anyone else, was in that moment she felt an intense passion—a deep yearning-to strike that dark figure down and prove her true potential. Every muscle in her body responded to that curled finger, coiling to strike, but a second before she could begin her forward momentum something happened.

The console behind Revan exploded. The ship rocked violently, black smoke pouring into the bridge as laser fire peppered the helm. A spray of sparks danced across the metal floor. Bastila and the young padawan were both thrown to their knees. When Bastila rose again, moving her yellow blade warily through the smoke and fumes, she saw the inert figure of Darth Revan stretched out against the deck, blood dripping from the edge of her dread mask.

It could have been over then, but it wasn't. As Bastila approached the body she felt a last flicker of the Force. She reached out to it and fulfilled their destiny.

0-0-0

"The Exile is sent away wounded and fractured, but Revan is restored," Bastila said, watching as the Sith Lord's body floated peacefully in the kolto tank. Revan's body had been secreted to a high-security medical ward in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. Only Bastila, the padawan, and the Jedi Council knew of her survival. The padawan had been sent to the outer rim on a diplomatic mission. Bastila was certain she too would have been sent away, if not for the strange bond that had manifested between herself and the Dark Lord. They were bound together and the Jedi Council accepted that Bastila would have to be included in their plans.

"You question the Council's decision?" Master Vrook asked.

"No, Master," Bastila said. "To use her own knowledge against her is... fitting. But will it work?"

"Difficult to say. Master Vandar believes the false memory will deteriorate over time, but if you move quickly, perhaps you can gain her trust and knowledge before she resumes the dark path."

"You feel her fall is inevitable?" Bastila asked. Vandar had expressed optimism that the memory replacement might change Revan on some fundamental level, but even this endorsement had been a cautious one. Repairing the physical damage to Revan's body would be difficult enough. Her back and side were blackened and red with burns—there would be scars that even kolto or the Force couldn't heal. Repairing the mental damage and constructing a false identity would be even more difficult.

"I fear that if she regains her strong grip on the Force the Dark Lord will return. If she remains as planned—a soldier, mildly Force-sensitive, with allegiance to the Republic—then perhaps..." Vrook scowled. "It is foolish to guess. In my experience, young Bastila, people do not truly change. You must watch this one quite carefully."

"I understand," Bastila said, watching as the form undulated gracefully in the tank. It seemed to her that, as the Dark Lord's hands slowly floated up and down, her index finger beckoned.

0-0-0

When Bastila smashed open the hinges on the Vulkar cage, taking advantage of the melee between the swoop race winner and Brejek's men, all she could think of was neutralizing her captors. It was only after the Vulkars were dispatched that she got a good look at the racer.

"You're-" She very nearly gave it away. Her surprise at seeing Revan almost overrode all else, but she collected herself quickly and said, "-from the Endar Spire."

Revan identified herself with the false name that had been seared into her brain, but Bastila hardly heard it. It was curious, speaking to Revan as an ally. But the Jedi Council's work appeared to be sound, the heavy aura of power and the electric presence of the dark side were gone. The Revan that stood before her now in a filthy soldier's uniform and cobbled-together armor, her face clear of the dark taint, was almost a disappointment.

Bastila had envisioned many scenarios of their first meeting. She'd rehearsed a number of conversations in her head. None of them came close to this lackluster reunion.

"Now that I've saved you, I suppose we should move along," Bastila said, briskly.

Revan held out her dual-lightsaber. Bastila hesitated, and again that strange feeling descended on her as she took her weapon from the Dark Lord's outstretched hand. She wondered, did the lightsaber feel familiar? Did it stir a memory in Revan's mind?

"Carth Onasi is here," Revan said. "I'll take you to him."

They moved quickly through the lower city without talking. Once in the lift, when they were alone, Revan scrutinized her so closely Bastila felt a twinge of self consciousness.

"I know you," Revan said abruptly, and Bastila's breath nearly caught. "You're the one."

"I don't know what you mean," Bastila said.

"I had a dream about two Jedi fighting. You were the other one."

A shared vision. The Council had expected this. Bastila recited her lines verbatim.

0-0-0

"We should not have dealings with this... person," Bastila said, eying Canderous Ordo. The Mandalorian teemed with violence and passion. The Council had warned her to be wary of aligning the amnesiac and impressionable Revan with such people.

"We should hear him out," Carth said, keeping his voice low.

"I'll soften him up," Revan said.

Revan accepted a drink from the Mandalorian and as they talked, leaning closer together, Bastila realized that Revan was attracted to him. The Council had warned her of this as well. Master Zhar had explained, delicately, that Revan was "very fond of men."

Bastila sat at a nearby table, heavily, and crossed her arms. Carth joined her.

"Everything okay?" Carth asked.

A waitress approached them, but Bastila motioned her away. "I am fine, Carth."

After a few minutes, Revan waved them over. Canderous had a plan to steal a ship. Bastila was against it, but she was outnumbered.

0-0-0

The Ebon Hawk was on autopilot, a course plotted for Dantooine, and there wasn't a Sith ship in sight. Normally, this would be a good time to relax, but the bombardment of Taris left a bitter taste. The Mandalorian had (thankfully) sequestered himself in the garage and the Wookie was keeping the girl company in the hold. Bastila, for her part, was content to stay in the co-pilot's chair where she could rest and think.

Carth asked her if she wanted to shower first, but she declined. Ever since her escape from the Vulkars it seemed as though they'd been moving non-stop—fortuitously, as it turned out. They had only narrowly escaped Taris before the Sith fleet opened fire, destroying the planet's surface. Now that they were out of immediate danger she wanted to stop moving and rest.

She heard Carth's footfalls as he walked down the corridor, but they stopped after only a few paces.

"Well, look at you," he said.

Revan's voice drifted into the cockpit. "Oh, that's right. You've never seen me clean before. I'm going to miss having swoop bike grease behind my ears."

"No dirt, no grime. It's a good look for you."

"I'm not set on it. You can get me dirty again, if you want."

Bastila smiled inwardly. She had to admire Revan's boldness at times.

Carth chuckled. "I think we should get to know each other better first," he said. There was a smile in his voice, but also a hint of wariness.

Revan was pushing too hard, Bastila sensed, and Revan seemed to sense it too. Her reply was light and friendly, the sexual undertones absent. "My secrets are yours. Just ask."

Bastila's amusement at their banter went cold. Revan had no idea what her secrets were. She felt a brief spark of pity for the older woman. Revan wasn't the only one who would be affected by the lie. It would ensnare everyone around her. And if Carth ever found out... Bastila pushed the thought aside. Whatever the attraction between Carth and Revan, they were doomed from the start.

0-0-0

"Are you certain Revan is truly dead?" Vrook asked. "What if we undertake to train this one, and the _Dark Lord should return_?"

The Masters considered this as Bastila and Revan stood before them. Revan glanced at Zhar, and the movement did not go unnoticed—even now, after having her memory altered, Revan instinctively knew which Master would be most sympathetic.

Vandar made a motion to Vrook, something Bastila saw but did not understand, and said, "We should discuss this matter more fully in private."

They decided. Revan would be trained once again. And once again, Zhar would be her Master.

It was well known that Revan had always been Zhar's favorite pupil. Even after her fall he remarked that she'd been his most talented student. And as Bastila observed Revan's training—the speed with which she progressed, and the obvious pride with which Zhar oversaw her progress—she had the growing sense that history was repeating.

One evening, after hours of practicing lightsaber forms, Bastila found herself alone with Zhar in the sparring room. The Twi'lek Master seemed lost in thought as he collected Revan's practice sword. Revan rarely picked up after herself.

"Master Zhar, can I be of any further assistance?" Bastila asked. When he did not answer, she said, "Master Zhar?"

He glanced at her. "Forgive me, young Bastila. You were saying?"

"Do you need anything else, Master?"

"No, that is fine." Zhar hefted the vibrosword in his hand, testing the weight. He noticed her watching and said, "I missed her, Bastila."

No member of the Council had ever been so personally frank with her. Bastila nodded, unsure how to respond.

"Soon, she will leave again. I wish she could stay here with us. But..." Zhar sighed, worry etched across his brow, and in that moment he seemed almost paternal. Even after all these years, after everything that had happened, he was still fond of his old, fallen student. "Thank you, padawan. That is all."

Bastila left him, unable to ignore the twinge of bitterness that rose up in her. She was a model Jedi and possessed the rare gift of Battle Meditation. She'd been a great asset to the Republic and had obeyed the Jedi Council's every command. Even so, Revan was the favored student.

She remembered overhearing a conversation about how Malak had always followed in Revan's shadow at the Academy. Had Malak also felt this same bitterness, this same sense of injustice? As soon as she wondered it, she cleared the thought from her mind. She did not want to know how Malak felt—now or ever.

0-0-0

Bastila was sitting in the center of the floor meditating when Revan arrived at their enclave apartment. The older woman smelled of sweat and exertion, but not the sparring kind. Bastila knew something had been going on between Revan and one of the men, probably Canderous, for some time now.

Revan settled in across from her, crossing her legs and stretching her back. She preferred to meditate in company. It had taken some getting used to, for Bastila had always been one of the more solitary Jedi at the enclave, but she'd grown to enjoy this silent time they spent together.

"I've been thinking about our bond," Bastila said, her eyes still shut. "The positive aspects are invaluable; though it we can help each other and give each other strength. But there is a negative side. The actions of one of us may affect the other in an adverse way."

Revan was quiet, listening. She was an exceedingly careful listener, Bastila noticed, and could often recall conversations verbatim. It many ways, it was a shame that such a brilliant memory had been so boldly stripped.

"When you go against the wishes of the Council," Bastila continued, "it may also affect me. Do you understand?"

"I've done as they asked," Revan said, not defensively.

"I sense you are developing feelings for someone," Bastila said. "I don't want to pry into your affairs. But I remind you that romantic entanglements can be very dangerous, especially for padawans. Such strong emotions may interfere with your training."

"Will they?" Revan asked. Bastila was familiar with the tone, it was one people often used to imply that the Jedi were cloistered and lacked real-world experience.

"Years ago I had... a friend." Bastila smiled at the memory. "He was very handsome and was kind to me. Gentle, patient. I thought of him all the time and as a result my training began to suffer. I could no longer concentrate, I made foolish mistakes. It was difficult, but I ended it." Bastila shifted slightly. "I don't regret spending time together, but I don't regret putting my training first, either." Bastila opened her eyes and saw Revan was looking at her with a degree of surprise. "Kavar taught me that Jedi are not made of stone."

"I suppose they aren't," Revan said.

They resumed meditation. It was some time before Bastila spoke again. "I sense that the Council will give us a mission related to the star map we found. We must focus all our efforts on it."

"You're right," Revan said, at length. "The Council has given me an opportunity. I'll do my best to follow their rules." She paused. "I've been thinking about what you said, about leaving Mission here on Dantooine."

"Have you spoken with her about it?" Bastila asked.

"Do you know about her brother?"

Bastila didn't answer. She'd consoled Mission briefly after the destruction of Taris, but had never really thought, or asked, about the girl's possible relations.

"Her parents are dead and her brother has abandoned her. To leave her here against her will, taking her only friend with us, would be cruel."

Bastila opened her eyes. "She is a child."

"Abandoning a teammate will cause strong emotions... I expect it will interfere with my training," Revan said softly, her eyes still shut.

Bastila regarded her.

"Also, I would be lonely," Revan said. "Bunking with Mandalorians is the only cure."

"You can't be serious," Bastila said, flushing. "Are you actually bartering with me?"

Revan smiled.

"I don't see what's amusing about it," Bastila said. "She is a _child_."

"Bastila."

"And you are acting like a child."

"If we're going to Kashyyyk we'll need Zalbaar. He's an exile, returning home will make him jittery. Anxious Wookies can be very unpredictable. Do we really want to jettison the only person that knows how to calm him down?"

"You could have said so in the first place," Bastila said.

"You're right. I shouldn't tease you. I'm sorry. I will do my best to obey the Council's wishes."

They lapsed into silence. Bastila turned the conversation over in her mind before muttering, "Bunking with Mandalorians. Ridiculous."

Revan laughed. It was infectious, and Bastila smiled in spite of herself.

0-0-0

They stood at the ancient computer in the Shadowlands, the alien hologram waiting patiently for further input. Trees and vegetation towered around them. This particular part of the forest was strangely quiet and, save the occasional bird call, the hum of the computer was the only noticeable sound.

Revan raised her eyebrows at Jolee. "One hundred and fifty-two times?" she asked.

"There's not much to do around here," the old Jedi said, unembarrassed.

"Now what?" she asked the computer.

"Behavioral reconfiguration is necessary," the hologram replied cheerfully. "I will provide you with a series of hypothetical situations. Just answer these questions as you normally would."

Revan did so.

Strategically, her answers were sound. But they were the answers of a General intent on winning, not a Jedi. Bastila looked to Jolee for his reaction. He'd been surprised that they'd saved the tachs without bloodshed but this, apparently, did not phase him.

"You answered as Revan would," Bastila commented. "Good thinking."

Jolee eyed her, then made a soft, "Hmph," under his breath. Revan didn't appear to be listening to either of them. The star map was slowly unfurling like a flower at dawn.

0-0-0

Bastila and Revan circled each other in the Ahto hangar, breathing heavily, their faces dotted with perspiration. Revan was not Bastila's favored opponent—in many ways she preferred Juhani's straight-forward, clean style of fighting—but Revan was unpredictable and creative. She fought like a Sith. It made for good practice.

There was a lull and both were taking advantage of it. Bastila lowered her lightsaber slightly, pausing to catch her breath.

Revan lifted her right hand, the lightsaber gripped tightly, and beckoned with her index finger.

Without thinking, Bastila hurled the dual-blade at her opponent.

Revan's surprise was clear. She threw herself to the side and as the blade zipped past it singed a section of her hair and came so close to the side of her neck that the residual heat brought up an angry red welt.

"What just happened?" Revan asked, extinguishing her blade.

"You're so smug, you think you can dispatch me as quickly as-" Bastila cut herself off abruptly, taking another breath. As quickly as the others? As quickly as the consulars on her flagship? She felt the edges of the Force tickling at her mind.

"What is it?" Revan asked, and Bastila slammed the mental door between them shut.

Revan, ever the strategist, decided this particular battle was lost. "Fine," she said waving her hand dismissively. "Fine." She did not attempt to invade Bastila's space again.

Bastila boarded the Ebon Hawk, choosing to mediate alone in the cargo bay. She was upset with herself for losing her temper and lashing out, but damn it all if Revan wasn't so skilled at driving her to anger. Revan was well known for her passion and for her ability to inflame the passions of others. Once again, this was an aspect of Revan's personality she'd been warned against. Once again, she'd failed to counter it. It was one thing to know Revan was a red giant, burning hotter and faster than all the stars around her. It was quite another to avoid being sucked into her sphere of influence.

0-0-0

Darth Bandon ambushed them in the dunes and went for Revan with a sense of purpose. Bastila and Juhani were left to fend off the two dark Jedi accompanying him. Sand and grit swirled around them and the sun was hot through their sweaty, dirty robes as they moved about, three couples an arid ballroom.

Revan met Bandon gladly and the air about them seemed to pulse with the force of their clash. Their lightsabers hissed and crackled as they they ducked and moved, both employing the Vaapad lightsaber form, but Revan's movements had a natural and strangely bewitching grace that Bandon, with his coarse aggression, lacked.

Bastila dispatched her opponent, sending her blade through his chest, at about the same time Juhani separated her own opponent from his arm. Both turned to the remaining fight and hesitated. The two combatants wove so closely together it was as though they shared an intimate dance. Juhani met Bastila's eyes and an understanding passed between them. This was not a fight they could intrude on.

The two twirled and slashed, their blades flickering through the air. For a minute or so it seemed they were evenly matched with neither possessing any obvious advantage. Revan gave a seductive laugh that seemed to echo across the dunes.

Bastila had heard it few times before. It seemed like a diversionary tactic, but Bastila knew Revan well. It was involuntary-Revan was having _fun_. The laugh had only momentarily distracted the Jedi Weaponmaster at the Academy and it had not thrown off his concentration. Darth Bandon lacked that self-control and center. The laugh seemed to taunt him, inviting him to strike, and he rushed at her, screaming:

"I will break you myself!"

It was his final mistake.

Revan only used her primary blade; she did not even bother with the shorter saber in her off-hand. She neatly took his head. His corpse stumbled and fell bloodlessly to her side, his lightsaber extinguishing as surely as his life had.

Revan lowered her weapons. She was euphoric with victory; an aura of almost electric power coursed around her. She grabbed Juhani with her off-hand, pulling her close in a clumsy hug.

Juhani gave a rare smile, her hand lingering on the small of Revan's back.

"Malak's apprentice," Bastila said, looking down at the headless corpse.

"He's running out of bounty hunters and servants," Revan said, stooping to take Bandon's lightsaber. She tossed her short-saber into her pack and ignited Bandon's, turning it this way and that, watching the pulsing red blade. She ignited her own Guardian blade and crossed the two, the blue and red humming together.

"You're keeping it?" Bastila asked quietly, as Juhani silently moved to strip the dead Jedi.

"Perhaps Malak will recognize it," Revan said.

Bastila felt something crawling up her spine. "Leave it," she said. "We've collected so many. It's... gristly."

Revan extinguished both blades, hooking them to her belt. "What's wrong?"

Bastila hesitated. Juhani stopped what she was doing to listen. "The color," Bastila said. "We've fought so many Sith. It's disturbing."

"It's just a color," Revan said, reluctant to relinquish her prize. "Red's as good as any."

"No," Bastila said sharply. "It isn't."

Revan observed her for a moment, then nodded. "The parts are good. I'll change the focusing crystal."

Bastila nodded back, her eyes straying to the enemy's blade dangling from her companion's hip. That was reasonable. The Sith blade would be changed. To blue or yellow or green. It would be a Sith blade no longer.

Still, Bastila felt that crawling sensation along her back and a nagging voice in her mind. Vrook was right. Vrook had always been right.

0-0-0

As Malak tortured her, sending Force lightning ripping through her body, searing her nerves and stabbing into her mind, there was only pain and pain and pain and then anger and finally, finally hate. She embraced it.

0-0-0

"Revan, I knew you'd come." Bastila rose from her meditation pose on the command center platform. "Lord Malak wasn't sure you'd take the bait, but he doesn't know you like I do." Dark energy thrummed through the Star Forge, energizing her, heightening her awareness.

Revan struck the door control panel with her lightsaber, locking the blast doors.

"You've sealed off your escape route," Bastila observed.

"The three of us will be staying here," Revan said quietly.

"Isn't this the part where you persuade me to return to the light?" Bastila asked.

"This is the part where you prove you can beat me," Revan said, igniting both of her lightsabers. The red and blue clashed ominously.

Bastila ignited her own red saber. "It's all about you, is it?" Bastila asked, and her voice was whip-like.

"It's always about me," Revan said.

Bastila lunged.

To say they fought would be an understatement. They savaged, each drawing on the dark energy of the place, and in due time it became clear who the real swordsman was.

Bastila fought hard and fought well, but it wasn't enough, and by their third pause she knew it never would be. Bastila hit the ground on one knee, her face flush with sweat, and no fight left in her. It was over. She'd lost.

This revelation was not as difficult as she'd imagined. It was as through, deep inside, she'd always known. Ever since that initial crook of Revan's finger on the deck of her flagship, some small part of her had always understood that Revan's destiny would eclipse her own.

"For the sake of what we once shared," Bastila said, panting, "make it quick."

Revan looked down at her over crossed blades. They slid inward, like brilliant multicolored scissor blades on either side of Bastila's neck, then extinguished. Bastila realized Revan was not looking at her; Revan had noticed the dark veins running along the backs of her hands.

Revan flexed her hand and the veins throbbed, but already they were returning to a normal color. "How quickly the old ways return," Revan said. She turned, but not so much that she couldn't still see Bastila out of the corner of her eye. "I am a good fighter. Maybe a good leader. But a poor teacher. A poor lover, friend, and... Jedi, I think. Conflict is what I was forged for." She seemed to consider this. "Some are born to walk in the light, but my place must be here." She gestured to the metal walls surrounding them. The Star Forge murmured with dark energy, and that energy seemed to coalesce around Revan.

"You were meant for the light, Bastila."

"I can never return to the Jedi," Bastila said, bitterly. "There is too much anger in me. Kill me now, get it over with."

"I can't kill you," Revan said. "I love you."

Bastila swallowed.

"I know," Revan said, understanding. "You wanted me to be your master. The apprentice can never truly love the master—the dark side makes it impossible. There must always be some anger, some hate, between them. I understand that now." She turned to face Bastila again, her expression composed and unreadable. "You can return to the Jedi, Bastila. It's not too late."

"I honestly wish I could. This," Bastila gestured around them, "is not my path. But what I've done is treason. How could I ever atone?"

"Use your Battle Meditation to win this battle for the Republic. Help me finish what we started."

Bastila closed her eyes, then nodded slowly. "Yes," she said, rising unsteadily to her feet. "You're right. I will do whatever I can to aid the Republic." She looked towards the corridor that led to the viewing platform and said, "I cannot go with you."

Revan nodded. "When the tide of the battle turns, go to the Ebon Hawk," she said. "Don't wait for me."

The two women faced each other. In the past, there would there have been a touch... Perhaps even a hug? Bastila wasn't sure. But now, a deep ravine loomed between them. Even mere feet apart, they were isolated.

They parted. As the older woman walked away the Force flared about her and Bastila felt something almost like heat as the dark side swirled up and around Revan.

The Dark Lord—and truly, she was the Dark Lord—had been holding back for her benefit. But now, as she went to engage her old apprentice one last time, she held back nothing.

Revan disappeared behind the blast doors and Bastila turned her attention outward, summoning the last of her strength and pushing outward with the Force, rallying the Republic Fleet that surrounded her.

It was the last time Bastila would see Revan as she knew her. The person that later emerged from the command deck, carried briskly by Canderous Ordo, was irrevocably changed. In a way, Revan died in that chamber. The Jedi that survived that duel was not the Jedi that walked into it.

0-0-0

The awards ceremony was nigh. Attendants moved quickly among them, dabbing makeup, straightening clothes. The crowd outside around the award platform made a dull roar that filtered into their tent.

Revan was tense. Her arm was in a sling and a terrible burn was still healing on the side of her neck. The Republic PR attendants insisted that they plan the ceremony before she had fully healed. They thought it would be more iconic to show the Jedi leader still on the mend from the wages of war.

"Jedi leader." They'd actually said that.

The crew of the Ebon Hawk was already outside, waiting. The Jedi Masters, Bastila, and Revan were to be the centerpieces of the ceremony and, as such, were the last to be fussed over. Master Vandar patiently endured. Master Vrook merely scowled.

Revan hadn't spoken to anyone, even Carth, since they'd arrived. She spoke now, in an undertone, to Vandar. Bastila caught the end of it.

"... can't do this," Revan said urgently to the old Master. "Please, Master."

"Have you lost your sense?" Vrook asked sharply.

"I can't do this," Revan said. "I'm not going out there. I'm not standing there while Dodonna pins that damned-"

"We need a rallying figure," Vrook said. "If I could choose, it wouldn't be you—either of you—but it's not my choice. You're the one with name recognition. You're the one who started this whole disaster. You will go out there-"

"No," Revan said.

"Your mission is not yet finished. Your atonement-"

"My atonement? You mean my brainwashing? I'll sit this one out and we'll call it even."

"How dare you," Vrook said.

"Revan," Bastila said quietly, but she was ignored. She glanced at Vandar, but the Master's calm gaze was intent on the arguing pair.

"My plan was working until you decided to intervene. Do you have any idea how close I was? Three months, maybe less. Three _months_."

"You call the slaughter of thousands a plan that is working?" Vrook turned to Vandar. "You see how she hasn't changed!"

"Judging me, Vrook?" Revan asked. "What a surprise. You're always judging me, always wanting to condemn and punish me. Is this why you exiled my general? So you would have someone to punish in my stead, someone to make an example of? Would you have exiled me, stripped me of the Force, if I weren't so inconveniently necessary?"

"What?" Vrook asked, his voice flat and dangerous. He glanced at Bastila—had she told Revan of the Exile?-and Bastila shook her head once, wordlessly; she had not.

But Revan didn't seem to hear him. Her voice rose, her temper flaring. "You always looked down on me! Always looked down on my talents! Always refusing to train me! You always tried to hold me back! I was never good enough for you, never good enough! You passed me over for others, and for what? They never commanded power as I did! They never understood the true nature of the Force like I do!"

A glimmer of something flickered across Vrook's face. Bastila sought to decipher it, but in a moment it was gone, replaced by a mask of stone.

Revan caught her breath as though she'd just witnessed a swoop accident. Her face changed; suddenly she was like a child padawan desperate to undo a temper tantrum. "Master Vrook, I'm sorry, please, I-"

"Impetuous as always," Vrook said coldly, and he left.

Revan was quickly losing her composure. It was such a foreign sight Bastila could only look on, detached, as if she were watching a holovid of some far away, unknown star exploding. Revan turned to Vandar.

"Master Vandar-"

"You should do as we have asked," Vandar said. His tone was gentle, but there was no sympathy in his gaze; no condolence. He turned and slowly followed Vrook's departure.

Revan turned to Bastila, extending her good hand. "Bastila..."

Bastila hesitated a second too long, realized the mistake, and quickly took the older Jedi's hand in hers. "I understand. I'm not particularly eager to be a part of this ceremony myself. We will go together. We can support each other. It won't take long. This is a small thing the Masters have asked of us."

The speed with which Revan rebuilt her walls was unnerving. The raw, vulnerable look that had been there just seconds before was quickly being erased, her expression glossing into stoic neutrality.

"You were strong for me, you kept me from straying," Revan said. "But I wasn't strong enough for you."

"Revan, I don't blame-"

Revan dropped her hand. It was as though something between them had severed. "Bastila, I am so sorry."

"I—I too am sorry," Bastila said, sincerely, and she felt a slight thaw between them, though the chasm that had sprung up since that fateful parting on the Leviathan remained.

They went out to meet the crowd.

0-0-0

The Ebon Hawk was enjoying a well-deserved rest. She had been outfitted, repaired, and cleaned top to bottom, but even after all these months the ship still smelled of Wookie and grease. Being on the empty ship now always gave Bastila a strange touch of homesickness. As cramped as the ship was, it had been a sanctuary for them.

She had not come here to reminisce, however. The bond between herself and Revan had weakened greatly over the months, but one thing was certain: Revan was planning to leave. Her destination was unclear but her departure was inevitable. After attempting to coerce this information from the elder Jedi, who seemed to grow more distant with each passing day, Bastila devised another plan.

"There," Bastila said, replacing T3-M4's front casing. The little astromech beeped, gears whirring, and rotated his eye towards her.

"You have a new mission," she told him. "You will follow Revan when she leaves. If at any time you lose contact with Revan you will return to Republic space and find me. Do you understand?"

The droid beeped, then whistled.

"If you cannot find me, seek out the nearest Jedi. You will not tell Revan of this program. It is for her protection."

T3 gave a low whine.

"Yes, that would probably be a good idea. Keep an eye on that horrible machine. I question its loyalty."

The little astromech gave another string of whistles and beeps, then rolled away, resuming his patrol of the Ebon Hawk's corridors.

Outside, Bastila said goodbye to the dock mechanic, who was making his morning rounds.

"I noticed that little droid of yours is developing some personality quirks. It's probably overdue for a memory wipe. That model can get a little eccentric if you don't give it routine maintenance. I've scheduled a wipe for this weekend, if that's-"

"You will not service the droid," Bastila said, breezing past.

"I will not... service the droid..." the mechanic said. He blinked, then added, "Good day, Master Jedi."


	4. The Old and the Gray

The Old and the Gray

"_Controlling your passions while being in love, that's what they should teach you to beware, but love itself will save, not condemn you._" ―Jolee Bindo0-0-0

Jolee Bindo remembered his first encounter with Revan very clearly.

When the two Jedi entered the Shadowlands they seemed no different than the ones that came before them. But as they moved deeper into the forest an odd calm fell. Birds quieted their calls; insects were mute and still. Jolee trailed them at a cautious distance.

The woman led the way, her dark robes swishing through the brush, and her companion followed closely behind. After a while, he spoke:

"Revan, is it wise to trust the Wookiees? There is great danger here."

Revan continued onward. The foliage yielded easily to them and, as they carved this new path, Jolee became more cautious. This was a section of the forest he had not thoroughly explored.

After some time the Jedi reached the ancient computer. Revan communicated with the computer hologram at length. Eventually, her companion said, "Revan, the map," with a note of impatience.

"We must know their history if we wish to avoid their fate," Revan said absently.

"We are more powerful; we fight with the Force. We will triumph."

She looked as though she were about to say something, but apparently changed her mind. She stepped down from the computer and as they approached the diamond-shaped structure it opened like a flower, its petals falling away to reveal the glowing starmap at its center.

The pair drank it up greedily. The man said, "It is some uncharted world. It must be."

"Only one more," Revan said.

The man regarded her. "You do not like Korriban."

"There will be many temptations," she said.

"Temptations must be faced and conquered," the man said. "Together-" He moved to touch her, but then—ah, restraint. He allowed his hand to fall back to his side.

"You're right," Revan said, her focus never wavering from the bright orbs that dotted the great hologram.

When they finished, and the metallic bud of the starmap closed again, Revan stepped back up to the computer. Instead of engaging the hologram she slid a computer spike into the nearest receptacle. "A precaution," she told her companion, her eyes flicking Jolee's direction.

Jolee backed away, pulling farther into the shadows, but the man merely nodded and waited. When Revan was finished they backtracked the way they'd come.

Jolee decided to let them be.

Years later, he would realize that this was the second greatest—or perhaps even the greatest—mistake of his life. He would come to regret it. And when an opportunity arose to correct that mistake, he would seize it tightly. He would not allow Revan to escape him again.

0-0-0

There were not any visitors of interest for years.

0-0-0

Jolee Bindo observed the two Jedi as they made their way through the Upper Shadowlands. The Guardian was Revan. Had to be. But she was different now.

He watched as she swatted at the mosquitoes that hovered around her face. The Sentinel noticed. Raising her hand, she summoned a slight Force wind. The mosquitoes struggled in the draft before falling back.

Revan observed carefully, then nodded and raised her own hand. But instead of summoning a wind, as the younger Jedi had done, she reached out with the Force, repelling the mosquitoes with sheer will.

The Sentinel smiled. "Nicely done."

Jolee circled around them, moving ahead through the trees. He didn't want Revan to see him, not yet, but his plans were thwarted by a katarn ambush. When it was finished, he was surrounded by the corpses of the reptomammals and panting with exertion. The Jedi, drawn by the sounds of battle, approached him.

Jolee looked Revan in the face. The eyes that looked back were curious and showed no signs of recognition.

"What's the matter?" he asked. "Haven't you ever seen an old man before?"

0-0-0

Revan was flirting with an Iridonian.

Jolee would have never believed it if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. But there she was at a table on the other side of the mercenary enclave, leaning back casually in her chair, engaging the armored mercenary in bloody war stories. The Iridonian had no short supply. He quickly downed his drinks, pleased at the appreciative audience, but Revan scarcely touched hers. She was focused solely on the conversation.

It was evident Canderous did not like this scene, though he covered by nursing a brandy and watching mercenaries come and go. The enclave, like all of the establishments in Ahto, was comprised of metallic walls, sconces and arches. Lots of gray, lots of stark lighting, lots of hard edges. What the architecture lacked in aesthetics it made up for in durability and strength. The Selkath were nothing if not practical.

"I can smell him from here," Jolee muttered.

"Iridorians shower in the blood of their enemies. They don't bathe otherwise."

"How do you know?"

Canderous shrugged. "That's what they say."

"That's funny. I remember hearing something very similar about Mandalorians."

Canderous didn't rise to the bait. He took a swallow of his drink.

"Oh, come on," Jolee said. "It's nothing."

"On Taris, she played me the exact same way," Canderous said.

Jolee was aware of something between the two, but they never let anything slip and he'd never asked. "You've got it all wrong," Jolee said, raising his finger for a refill.

"I was there," Canderous said shortly.

"Granted. But the truth is in the body language."

"What's your point?"

Jolee didn't answer. He wasn't going to spell it out for him. They drank and observed the patrons around them. Canderous made a comment about a nearby Echani. Jolee told him the story about Andor Vex getting thrown down the reactor shaft and they both shared a laugh. Two drinks later Revan made her way back to them, smiling slightly. She slid onto the seat next to Canderous, swiveling to turn her knees his direction, and leaned toward him.

"What are you so happy about?" Canderous asked.

"If the Selkath catch us skulking around in the Sith base I'll have an excuse. That Iridorian lured the Selkath youth down there. We'll say we were looking for them."

"I'm not going after that Republic droid," Canderous said.

"It's a means to the star map." She crossed her legs, brushing him with her knee, and leaned closer.

"I'll go with you to the star map," he said, his tone suddenly lighter, "but I'm not your errand boy."

When she was gone, Jolee said, "You see."

They finished their drinks.

0-0-0

Jolee shrugged off his pack, scattering Tatooine sand across the floor of the med bay. "Looks like you have a little problem," he observed.

Almost sheepishly, Revan held her hand out to him. Her fingers and palm were raw with the fringe of a blaster burn.

He reached out, taking her hand. Healing was one of his natural talents. He set to work. "Does this have anything to do with the tongue I found on the landing dock?" Jolee asked.

Revan had the grace to look embarrassed.

"I only noticed it because it was squishy when I stepped on it," he continued. "It must have been kicked to the gangplank by accident. Easy to miss."

"I'd rather not be lectured," Revan said, flexing her fingers. The angry redness was already becoming a more subdued pink.

"I don't blame you. But you have to admit, you have a nasty temper."

"I don't deny it," Revan said, sounding tired.

"You seem stressed lately, and you don't strike me as the type to be shaken by this 'save the galaxy' nonsense. Boyfriend troubles?"

Revan smiled.

"Is that funny?"

"Why are you so good at pushing people's buttons?"

"It's experience that comes with age," Jolee said sagely, and he released her hand. "The older I get, the more annoying I become." Revan flexed her hand, turning it palm up and palm down. "Better?" he asked.

"Much." She slid on her glove. He'd noticed that Revan always wore many layers, even in spite of Kashyyyk's humidity and Tatooine's heat. It wasn't modesty. It was something else. "I have to admit, it felt good," she said, idly running her gloved fingers along the edge of her lightsaber hilt. "Clean."

"I smelled urine on the landing pad," Jolee said.

"Xor was a slaver," Revan said.

"Don't romanticize it."

"Fine. I tortured him, subjecting him to such excruciating pain that he lost control of his bladder. That was unnecessary, I admit." She seemed lost in thought for a moment. "I'll work on my temper," she said abruptly, sliding off the examination table and disappearing down the corridor.

0-0-0

The days after the Leviathan seemed to take a lot out of Revan. Being a Dark Lord of the Sith did not seem to bother her so much. It was the losing—both of her mantle and her grip on the Republic—that she seemed to find most disturbing.

So when she approached Jolee in the garage late one evening he did not call her by her real name. It seemed cruel to do so.

"Can't sleep?" Jolee asked, not looking up from the stimpac he was constructing.

"You know what it's like to fight Sith you were once close to," Revan said, without preamble.

Jolee put the stimpac down. "Yes. That was the most difficult battle of my career as a Jedi. Winning, and letting her go... that somehow made it more difficult." He waited.

Revan sat on an overturned crate and ran her fingers through her loose hair. "You should have seen him when he first laid eyes on me. I could feel his hate on my skin." She swallowed, seeming unnerved by the memory. "I know there was something good between us once. We were together for a long time, far longer than we were ever apart. How could we become like this? How is it even possible?"

"Did you love him?" Jolee asked quietly.

"Worse," Revan said. "I thought he loved me." She glanced up, towards the corridor, then away again. "I don't want to fight him."

"Do you have a choice?" Jolee asked. "Eventually, he will come after you himself. Not to be overly dramatic, but only one of you can survive."

"Or neither," she said, bitterly.

She was quiet for so long he thought she was finished. He began working on the stimpac again. Abruptly, she said, "Aren't you going to tell me not to repeat your mistakes?"

He kept working. "You make whatever mistakes you like, and I'll make whatever mistakes I like, but know that I never make the same mistake twice."

She eyed him. "What are you saying?"

"Don't waste opportunities as far as Dark Lords are concerned," Jolee said. "There may not be another."

0-0-0

"What if she doesn't come out?" Carth asked quietly.

"If she doesn't return," Jolee said, "this story ends."

They sat on an overturned column at the edge of the Valley, dust devils nipping at their heels. The tombs of the Sith Lords loomed like giant dead carcasses, the sand swarming around them like flies.

"I'm glad Dustil came around," Jolee said. "I was a little worried about him at first."

Carth thought before he spoke. "So was I," he said. "I wonder how differently the meeting would have been without her intervention. I thought he was going to hit me. But you saw what she did." When Jolee didn't answer, he said, "That thing she does with her hand. It's some form of Jedi persuasion."

"It bothers you?" Jolee asked.

"It's manipulation. It's the dark side," Carth said. Jolee waited. "Do they ever really come back?" Carth asked finally.

"Some people say that once a Jedi gives in to the temptation of the dark side it will forever dominate his existence."

"What do you say?"

"I think there are two factors to consider. The first is motivation. Exar Kun craved power and domination. These fine gentlemen-" Jolee spread his hand, gesturing towards the tombs, "-were the same. What does Revan crave?"

Carth considered. "I don't know," he said. "But it's not power."

"I agree. That's the primary difference between Revan and Malak. Malak is a conqueror—or wants to be—and war is simply the blunt force by which he may acquire power. For Revan, war is a collection of tools, and the dark side itself is also a tool. Her world is one of levers and gears, of complex systems where each part affects others. Malak's view is much more linear. In his world, there is only one hammer and only one nail." Jolee gave a derisive snort.

"You said there were two factors," Carth said, drawing him away from the tangent.

"Ah, yes. The second is the capacity for compassion. Ulic Qel-Droma had compassion, buried however deeply. When he killed his brother in a duel, he was so horrified by his action he abandoned the dark side. Compassion is what anchors us to our humanity. My wife-" Jolee stopped.

"We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to-" Carth began, but Jolee cut him off.

"My wife lost that. I saw that when I dueled her. I didn't want to admit it to myself,but it was true."

"I've seen Revan do good things," Carth said. "But I've also seen her do cruel things. And I've seen the darkness, that strange electric shadow, that sometimes rises around her."

"She is what she is," Jolee said. "The Jedi Council could not change her and they will have to live with the reality that she represents. Can you?"

Carth did not answer.

Eventually two women emerged from the tomb of Naga Sadow, one leaning on the other for support, their faces marred with dust and grit. Carth rose. His hand brushed his blaster, but this was habit.

Yuthura and Revan clung together for only a moment longer. Yuthura pulled away first, stepping back on slightly unsteady legs.

Revan let her go. She coughed into her fist, shaking dust out of her hair, and straightened.

"Goodbye, Yuthura," Revan said.

Yuthura nodded. "Goodbye, my friend." The new Master of the Academy limped past the Carth, her eyes fastened warily upon him, but he paid her little mind. He went straight to Revan.

"I have the coordinates," Revan said. "We can get out of here now." Her mood was dark and she was favoring her right foot. "I took a bad step in the-"

Carth embraced her.

"Carth," she said, her voice soft, the hard edges all filed away and her irritation forgotten.

They held each other.

Now that they had the last set of coordinates they were upon their final destination. Jolee was certain that soon Revan's journey would split into two divergent paths. He was not so certain which one she would choose.

0-0-0

Carth and Dustil Onasi bid an awkward farewell with a stiff handshake and long pauses. Dustil told his father he'd decided to stay in the Academy and gather information that might be useful to the Republic, but Jolee had seen Dustil and Revan in quiet conversation several times now and knew the idea had not been entirely Dustil's own.

When Dustil and his father parted ways, Dustil met Revan and Jolee at the edge of the dock. Jolee was checking the manifest and Revan was making some final supply calculations.

Dustil nodded to the old Jedi, who nodded back.

"When will you return?" Dustil asked Revan.

Revan put her hand on his shoulder. "It's difficult to say. Trust your own judgment. You don't have to stay here if-"

"No, I want to do this," Dustil said.

Revan nodded, seeming pleased. "Don't be surprised when the new Headmaster abruptly leaves her post in the near future. There will be a free-for-all among the upper ranks for her position. Don't get entangled in it. Remember what we talked about."

"I understand. I'll do what I can. I'll be ready for you when you return."

Revan squeezed his shoulder. "You're an Onasi. I know I can count on you."

The young man left, walking back into the sandy, ramshackle corridors of Dreshdae.

"You're quite the schemer," Jolee said.

"I learned from the best."

"You're asking the boy to play a dangerous game."

"He's aware of the danger."

"He may be killed."

"It's possible."

"And if Dustil does die, you don't want Carth to know you put him up to spying. Otherwise, you would have discussed it directly instead of tiptoeing around having private conversations about secret missions."

"If you're going to lecture me, old man, get it over with." Revan inputted a few more numbers in her datapad.

"No, no. It sounds like you have everything under control. I just find it interesting that you care what Carth thinks of you on a superficial level, but not enough to be honest and fair with him."

Revan stopped calculating. Jolee glanced back at her, waiting. Her expression was difficult to read and when she spoke it was in a tone equally indecipherable. "Where were you eight years ago, old man?"

"Hiding," Jolee said.

0-0-0

The Jedi trio reached the topmost level of the ancient temple, their path littered with the corpses of the Sith that inhabited the place. It had been a long, slow, tedious journey.

Revan stopped just outside the door.

"What is wrong?" Juhani asked, but Jolee was silent. He already knew.

"I know the real reason you followed me up here, old man," Revan said, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. Strands of hair were plastered against her neck.

"Sooner or later, everyone has to make a choice," Jolee said.

They walked towards the large stone arch, but all three stopped as a shadowy female form emerged. Bastila approached, her dual red blades humming.

"Revan," Bastila said.

"Bastila," Revan replied.

"I resisted at first," Bastila said, anticipating the question. "But now, Lord Malak has made me see-"

Revan rushed her. They were surprised, Bastila perhaps most of all, but they quickly recovered and fell into the familiar rhythms of battle. Bastila's gains in ferocity and brute strength were offset by the predictability of her usual patterns of movement. Together, they wore her down, but Bastila was no fool. When there was a pause in the fighting she took it, quickly pulling back. This was not intended to be a fight to the death.

"You are more powerful than I realized. You are the Dark Lord, not Malak," Bastila said. "When I felt the dark taint within you, I ran from it. I hid. But this was folly. Now that I have embraced the dark side, I see that you are the true Lord of the Sith."

"And your master?" Revan asked.

"Malak is a poor commander. He is not the tactician and leader that you are. The Star Forge and the Sith fleet deserve your command. Let us join together and defeat Malak. Together, we can salvage this war." Then, in a voice that was so sincere and so cloying it gave Jolee a chill, she said, "Revan, this is your chance. Your plan may still be realized. Once the Star Forge is back in your control you can end the Republic's resistance. You can finally achieve the goal you came so close to."

And in that crucial moment, Revan wavered Both the Jedi saw it. Juhani tensed, her knuckles whitening on the hilt of her lightsaber.

Jolee said, "Don't follow this path, Revan!"

"Shut up, old man!" Bastila snarled. "Revan, together we can finish what you started. If we defeat Malak now and you resume command of the Sith fleet we can make up for the time wasted by the Jedi Counci's treachery. You're the only one that can win this war the way it was meant to be won."

Jolee knew Revan was finally, finally hearing what she'd always wanted to hear: that her plan had been a good one and that it could still be salvaged. It was an appeal to her pride and it was very cleverly played. He had underestimated Bastila.

In that moment, Jolee sensed that he had one chance, just one, to sway her. If it came to battle, Revan and Bastila would most certainly beat them. Revan must be won over now.

"Carth Onasi believes in you and loves you and is waiting for you down on that beach," Jolee said, and it was as though he'd doused her with cold water.

Revan's lightsabers crossed with a crackle as she slipped into a dueling stance.

Bastila's mouth set in a hard line. "You're a fool, Revan," she said.

0-0-0

Returning to the Jedi, if what he was doing could even be called that, wasn't an easy transition. Jolee had to admit that running water and power were nice things to have, but there were so many things about civilized life that got on his nerves. The Jedi, for instance. And the Coruscant Security Force. And holomarketers. He was not always convinced that daily hot showers were a fair trade-off.

When he was summoned before the Jedi Council, he nodded and bowed at the appropriate intervals and answered all questions truthfully and plainly. Then, when the Council announced their decision to grant him Knighthood, he bowed politely, said, "No, thank you," and went on his merry way.

He hadn't been sure how they'd react, but in hindsight, it was obvious. They acted as though nothing had happened. He was given a small apartment near the Temple and was granted all the access and privileges afforded a Jedi Knight.

He spent his days quietly. He explored the city, occasionally taking the time to harass the security force or young padawans. He was reluctant to become too entrenched in life. It was his hope that Revan would call on him.

When he answered the door one evening and found Bastila, he already knew what she was there to tell him. There was only one thing that could have brought her out of her self-imposed seclusion deep in the meditation rooms of the Jedi Temple. Revan's call wasn't coming.

Bastila sat in the chair he offered, her hands resting lightly in her lap. She wore the plainest of Jedi robes now, her hair shorn back into the old-fashioned style of the padawan learner. Previously she'd indulged herself in a touch of rouge, but this was a thing of the past. The face that relayed the news, that Revan was gone without a trace, was unadorned and calm.

"That isn't all," Jolee said.

"Juhani did not take the news well," Bastila said. "She is also gone. It is a disappointment she would abandon the Order so soon after her Knighthood." Bastila fought some flicker of emotion, and quelled it, but only partially. For all her humble trappings, much of her pride was still intact.

"Any ideas?" Jolee asked.

Bastila regarded him. "I was hoping..." His look stopped her. "She told no one," Bastila said, her voice slightly hollow. "Not even the Mandalorian."

"It doesn't seem fair, does it?" Jolee asked.

"At least she took the droids with her," Bastila said, looking out the window at the city skyline.

This surprised him. Bastila had never shown any interest in the droids before. He considered this comment, perhaps more than Bastila realized.

0-0-0

Once his reason for waiting on Coruscant had sneaked off during the night, Jolee became impatient with his usual urban wanderings. The Council, sensing his restlessness, asked him to undertake a mission. He was to go to Kashyyyk and assess the situation now that Czerka had been forcibly removed.

Jolee wasn't sure if they were sending him back to Kashyyyk because they thought he would have the highest chance of diplomatic success with the Wookiees or because they were secretly hoping he would decide to stay for another twenty years. He didn't ask. He went.

He'd crossed Revan's path twice now—he was sure he would cross it again.


	5. The Constant Shadow

**The Constant Shadow**

_"Malak had strength and embraced it, saw his opportunity and took it." ―Darth Sion_  
0-0-0

Alek remembered her from the beginning, when she was just another face in the sea of young padawans. The Temple at Coruscant was vast and the student body large but she stood out to him, even then. It was after she went under Master Kae's tutelage that she began to be noticed by others, but he'd noticed her first. He never forgot it.

They were both sent to the Dantooine Enclave around the same time. Dantooine was a mixed blessing; a mediocre padawan could get lost there, but the brilliant—the truly brilliant—shone out of that place. Kae had trained there, as had Vrook and Vandar. Alek Squinquargesimus was hopeful.

His first close encounter with Revan was, appropriately, a duel. He was bigger and stronger, she was faster and cleverer. Even the flicker and thrum of their blades complimented each other.

When Zhar called the draw, with a slight nod of approval, they both stepped back, heaving, sweat dripping down their faces. Alek's grip on his lightsaber was white-knuckled, but Revan's was loose, almost careless. She bowed. He bowed. They went opposite ways.

She was the one who first came to him. She leaned in the doorway of the study, her hip resting lightly on the frame, and said, "I'm going to look for the crystal cave."

This was a task normally reserved for the older padawans and the prospect of such a challenge intrigued him. Wordlessly, he put down his datapad and rose to join her. It was a historic moment, though neither realized at the time; it was the start of a journey that would last nearly twenty years.

0-0-0

"Thoughts, Alek?" Revan asked, brushing a smudge of dirt from her robes. She was the only one among his peers that called him by his given name.

"I don't recognize the architecture," he said, surveying the ruins. "I've never heard of such a structure here on Dantooine. Surely the Council must know of this. Perhaps it is an elite trial."

Revan's eyes darted over the large pillars leading up to the entrance of the ruins. "Boobytrapped, no doubt."

"There's something strange-" He reached forward to touch one of the pillars and Revan grabbed his arm.

"Can't you feel it?" she asked.

"The Dark Side has no hold over us," he said, a little defensively; he was keenly aware of the warmth and pressure of her fingers through his sleeve.

"We should keep this to ourselves until we learn more."

"Surely, just a look-"

"No," she said. "If we enter the Council will know, I'm sure of it. Best to check the archives first."

They debated, but not for long. Revan always won these arguments.

0-0-0

After months of sifting through the holocron archives Alek finally found something related to the strange ruins. "Rakata." It could be a place or possibly a name, he wasn't sure.

He immediately went to tell Revan, knowing she would be delighted at this tidbit, however small, since her own searches had been fruitless. He searched the dueling rooms and, not finding her there, went on to her dormitory wing.

Most padawans were out and about at this time of day, but Revan wasn't most padawans. She'd taken to meditating in her room at odd hours.

As Alek approached he heard a muffled sound. He approached her door, raising his hand to knock, and froze. The door was ajar and through the crack he was greeted with an unwelcome tableau. Revan was nude, her robes peeled away, her back arched. Kavar had his face pressed between her legs.

The rumors were true: Kavar's brand of training involved more than practicing lightsaber forms. And the other rumors, that Revan was keenly interested in this type of tutelage, must also be true. Alek had always ignored the banter, glances, and touches she exchanged with other male students, but this direct evidence, before his very eyes, was impossible to ignore.

The knowledge burned through his brain, surprising him, alarming him. The anger that welled up in him was so sudden and uncharacteristic that he was momentarily stunned.

He recovered and turned away, quickly, intending to leave them none the wiser. But as he moved away he heard Revan moan and there was something about that sound, about that seductive pitch and timbre, that caused a wave of the blackest hostility to wash over him. In that moment he had a sudden urge to reach out with the Force and break Kavar's neck. He quelled it. Barely.

He retreated, walking briskly back down the corridor, his senses aflame. He walked the grounds, alone, for a very long time, and did not return until he felt he'd regained control of his emotions. His jubilation at the secret word Rakata was extinguished.

When he did bring it to her attention, he tossed her the information almost carelessly, as though it were some unwanted crumb. Revan seized upon it eagerly and praised him for his excavation of it, and his anger eroded under her genuine pleasure of finding some clue, however small, as to their secret ruins. He was easy to win over, in those days, and she excelled at it.

0-0-0

When they were scheduled to relocate at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant they visited to the Crystal Caves one last time. Revan had always been fussy about her lightsaber. It was the only material item she cared about. She was endlessly fine-tuning the weapon, so it was no surprise to Alek when she expressed an interest in returning to the cave before they left Dantooine.

The caves, which had held so much excitement and danger in their youth, were mundane to them now. They reached the crystal room easily and, after searching among the ground crystals for nearly an hour, Revan glanced up, then gestured towards a ledge approximately a dozen feet up.

Alek boosted her.

She disappeared, first torso, then feet, and was gone from sight for some minutes. He called up to her, and she reappeared, leaning over the edge.

"Look-"

She slipped. She caught the corner of the ledge with her arm and elbow, rock crumbling under her, then fell.

Alek moved quickly, maneuvering to catch her, but the angle was all wrong. They landed in a heap. Revan's weight nearly knocked the breath out of him.

"You're... heavier than you look..." Alek managed, and Revan lifted her hand triumphantly. A slender, clear crystal was between her thumb and forefinger. It was rough-hewn, but Alek recognized the crystal's potential. He realized that he could feel Revan's heart beating against his chest, and the crystal's shimmer was synchronized with it. Already, the two were in tune with each other.

When he realized he could feel her heartbeat, he became aware of the rest of her; the individual press of her breasts, the flat of her stomach, the firm line of her thigh. His body responded. He grabbed her hip, quickly rolling her to the side before she noticed. Had she noticed?

"Good job," he said. Their faces were still very close.

Revan's breath had quickened. Her face was flush, a smudge of grime on her left cheek. As they lay there, face to face, a breath apart among the glowing crystals, he understood that this was the moment he had always wished for. But now that it was here, now that he had her undivided attention and they were alone and there was some rapport between them, he found himself uncertain.

"We should get back," he said quietly.

"Yes," Revan said, and the crystal pulsed once within her closing fist.

0-0-0

Revan and Kavar did not see each other often during the beginning of the Mandalorian War and, when they did, they fought. Revan was restless, angry, and impatient; it was a strange temperament in her. Her primary source of frustration was the High Jedi Council—she had repeatedly requested permission to join the Republic war effort and had repeatedly been denied.

She pored obsessively over the battle schematics. No skirmish escaped her scrutiny. Her knowledge, both of the Republic and Mandalorian fleets, was becoming encyclopedic. Master Dorak and their friend Atris both recognized her affinity and urged her to devote herself to becoming a military historian, but Revan would not be deflected.

"Mandalore is drawing the Republic in," she told him in private. "He'll hit them hard, soon. They won't be prepared for it."

"How can you be certain?" he asked.

"It's what I would do," Revan replied, and when she laid out the possible strategies her argument rang true.

Still, the Jedi Council remained cautious. Alek and Revan were frequently sent on sundry peacekeeping missions far from the skirmishes and far from Kavar. Revan's impatience grew.

Alek sought to console her. "They will send us when we are ready," he said, seeking to soothe her temper towards the Masters, but he did nothing to stop the deepening rift between Revan and Kavar. It wasn't mere jealousy. Alek knew they wouldn't be able to count on Kavar's support. He had a gut feeling.

"Kavar isn't like us," he told her. He disliked opening criticizing anyone, especially other Jedi, but he felt the need to verbalize the disconnect that was rapidly growing between the Jedi that wished to fight and those who followed the Council's orders. Kavar and Atris were only two of the many they now found themselves at odds with.

"I think I know what you mean," Revan said darkly.

Alek remembered clearly the day Revan and Kavar's relationship completely fell apart, forever severed and cast aside. He was looking for Revan (wasn't he always looking for Revan?) to come with him to report on a recent political upheaval on Manaan.

He could hear the echoes of her voice before he reached the west wing of the dormitory, but her words were muted with distance and emotion. As he neared he also recognized the pitch of Kavar's voice, but could not make them out until he was near enough to hear Revan say, "You disgust me!"

"Jealousy doesn't become you," Kavar said, his tone like ice.

"She is your student!" Revan screamed, and there was so much ferocity and anger in it that Alek ran the rest of the distance, throwing open the door.

Both looked at him, surprised. Kavar said, "Squint, this is private, get out." When Alek glanced at Revan for confirmation Kavar said, "You're going to follow her like a kath hound all your days? And for what?"

Revan struck Kavar with the back of her hand. It was a savage blow; drops of blood dotted the far wall and the front of Kavar's robe. Kavar grabbed his face, staunching the flow, and brushed past them both, retreating down the hall.

"He won't fight," she said, and there was a tired sense of finality in her voice. "He's fought in the skirmishes in the Outer Rim, he's seen what they do, and he won't stop it. He's going to sit here like all the rest of them." She shook her head. "They've held us back for too long. It's time to act. Mandalore is already closing the snare. Do you know who Kavar's student is?"

"He is not her master," Alek said, uncertainly, "but... yes. I know the padawan you mean."

"She's a natural leader; the others are quick to follow her. We need her," Revan said. "Get her."

"I will," Alek said.

"You never liked him," Revan said. "You were right." She rubbed her hand. A slight bruise was welling on her knuckles. "He's a coward and a fool."

It was as though she'd wiped some mounting slate between them clean. She'd chosen, and she'd chosen _him_. "I will follow you wherever you go," he said, and he meant it.

0-0-0

A deep gloom settled over the Revanchist camp. After their shared vision—one revealing the annihilation of the Cathar by the Mandalorians ten years prior—the Jedi Crusaders were subdued and depressed. This evidence of the Mandalorians' war crimes was exactly what they needed to goad the Jedi Council into sanctioning their assistance in the war, but none of them were happy to find it.

Revan sat near the glow lamp, still holding the Mandalorian mask she'd found, still dwelling on the vision it had brought. Alek let her be.

Late that night, he was awakened to hands tugging at his blankets. He reached out, disoriented from sleep, and found warm skin. Revan slid into bed beside him.

He turned to her and his hand brushed her side, feeling the swell of her hip and her powerful warmth.

"Kiss me," she said.

"You need rest," he said.

"I know what I need," she said huskily, fumbling with his robe, and then they were kissing, and then he was inside her, and every sound and breath she made was music he'd longed to hear.

0-0-0

It was not brutality, Revan told them, it was adaptability.

"We fight a merciless enemy," she said, "and our strategy must meet them accordingly."

No one argued. Not even Alek.

0-0-0

Revan and her General could not be more different. Revan stood tall and cloaked, her presence a shroud. The General was smaller, but more direct and open. Less of a fighter, but as much—or perhaps more—of a leader. The two women had a tenuous relationship, even after the General's Knighthood and promotions.

"I'd like you to lead the orbiting fleet," Revan said.

The future Exile considered this, scanning the map of Malachor V that flickered before her. "You think Mandalore will fall for your trap?"

"I know he will. He won't be able to resist." Revan walked along the war table, trailing her fingers lightly over the silhouettes of ships and stars. She'd been different ever since she'd returned from scouting Malachor V. She was more electric now, more intense. She drew her followers closer to her, Jedi and Republic alike. "We will finish them there. The war will be over."

"It won't be easy," the General said.

"We have a weapon," Revan told her. "But it must be done right."

After the meeting, when Alek scanned the names of those assigned to serve in the bait fleet orbiting Malachor, he commented, "Troublemakers, all."

"There are no coincidences," Revan said, and it was the closest she ever came to admitting that Bao-Dur's superweapon was not intended for Mandalorians alone.

0-0-0

No one could have predicted the raw destructive power of the Mass Shadow Generator, not even the Zabrak who created it. The General was one of the few survivors and she returned broken, her body resonating with a wound in the Force. She was one of the few independent Jedi that remained; Revan's loyalists, which had been a part of her personal fleet during the battle, were mostly alive.

"My part here is done," the General told them in the immediate aftermath. "I must answer to the Jedi Council."

"Go, then," Revan said, dismissively, and the future Exile departed.

"Why don't you have her killed?" Alek asked quietly, when they were mostly alone. He had long ago shed his nativity about leaving enemies alive and the uneasy tension between the women had always been plain to him.

HK-47 looked up, interested in the possibilities, but Revan waved the suggestion off.

"She is already dead. Let us see what the mighty Jedi Council does with her corpse. Let us see how Kavar tends her wound," Revan said, a thin edge of bitterness in her words, and Alek realized for the first time how deep her grudges truly ran.

0-0-0

He became Darth Malak, and he was more powerful for it.

0-0-0

The Rakatan ruins on Dantooine loomed before them just as before, when they were padawans. Malak could feel the Dark Side lapping at him, ebbing around him, and he drew in breath, feeling that power curl around him. How could he not have appreciated the power of these ruins when he was younger?

His maturity and understanding of the power this place held made him more cautious. Revan, by contrast, had become more bold. She approached the door and waited for him to follow. He could not see her face, for the mask, but he did not need to. He could feel her excitement and her yearning. Above all things, Revan loved having her curiosities satisfied.

It wasn't until they'd plumbed the depths of the guardian droid's knowledge, and felled the droids in the east and west rooms, that Revan showed signs of uncertainty. She paused at the door to the main chamber, then slowly began to pace, her gloved hand to her masked chin. Malak had seen her do this before.

"The ancient Jedi sealed this archway," he said, when she stopped and stood before the door. "Is it worth the risk?"

Wordlessly, she lifted her hand and the doorway opened.

"If we go in," he said, "we can never come back."

Revan strode through the door, the star map unfurling as she approached. Malak hesitated, but only for a moment. He crossed the threshold to join her.

0-0-0

She was wearing the mask all the time now, so often that some of the soldiers mistook her for a man. Malak felt that her walk was the giveaway. It was feminine, and her arms and wrists were slender like a woman's, but the new soldiers saw her relatively tall stature, the heavy armor chest plate, the shapeless battle skirts and the mask, and assumed. It was all as well to him.

One morning he found her peering in the mirror, touching her face as through it were foreign territory.

"You're beautiful," he said.

She had a strange vanity about the marks the Dark Side left on her body. "Why does it manifest so?" she asked, so quietly she might have been asking herself rather than him.

"You're powerful," he said, trying another tact. "Power is beauty. You don't need the mask. You should be proud to let them see it."

She sighed. "Do you remember when we would explore together, on Dantooine?"

"The Enclave is like another life," he said. "It's as if it happened to someone else."

"I know," she said, almost wistfully. She was becoming more difficult to understand these days.

0-0-0

The sex had tapered off. He knew why. She was sleeping with other men. That new General of hers, Gren, and certainly that fool assassin she liked to keep around. No doubt she was luring them in, promising them his place as her apprentice. No doubt.

As time passed, and he spent most of his hours overseeing production on the Star Forge, he became increasingly convinced that she was cheating, lying, and manipulating while he was gone. He was so riddled with suspicion that when he did return to the fleet he was constantly watching her every move, intent on catching her in some lie or scheme. He was always on the lookout for evidence of her betrayal. It was only a matter of time, after all. It was the way of the Sith.

One evening, when he woke and found her side of the bed empty, he went looking for her. He found her in the hall in her robe, talking in hushed tones to her pet assassin.

"...breach at Sernpidal, we think," the assassin was saying.

"What's going on?" Malak asked, feeling a prickle along his skin as he eyed the interloper. He was young, tall, dark-haired. Just the sort she'd bed with. The longer Malak stared at the Sith Assassin the more convinced of their affair he became. He raked his eyes over both of them, looking for any sign of passion—a hair out of place, a hint of a flush.

The assassin was uneasy; he glanced at Revan.

"Tell him, Jax," she said, preoccupied.

"Lord Revan sent me to locate Bastila Shan, General Malak. The Jedi who uses her battle med-"

"I know who she is," Malak said.

"The Jedi are hatching a trap. They mean to draw Lord Revan out into the open. They intend to use Shan as bait, though I doubt she realizes it."

"Bait worth having," Revan murmured.

"You would play into their hands?" Malak asked, his irritation forgotten.

"They would play into ours. With Bastila's battle meditation we can speed up our victory. We may save thousands of troops. It's worth the risk. You've done well," she said, touching Jax's arm. From Revan, such compliments were rare, and Malak felt jealousy surge in his chest.

"Should I go back and learn more?" Jax asked.

"Yes. Learn the fine points and report back to me—to us," Revan said.

In their room, Malak allowed his temper to flare. "How can you trust him?" he asked.

Revan frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"He could be a traitor."

"He's our best assassin and an excellent spy," she said, and he realized she was looking at him very intently. "What is this about?"

"I don't like him," Malak said. "I don't think you should put so much confidence in him. I was right about Kavar, wasn't I?"

Revan was quite for a moment, studying him. There was something about it that made him feel as though she were dissecting him with her eyes. She said, "This war has gone on too long. Morale is suffering. The troops respond to you. Stay here, with me. They will benefit from your presence. More importantly, I'll need your advice on this matter with Bastila Shan."

"Who will look after the Star Forge?"

"I'll send Gren."

Malak's heart sped up. Was she maneuvering Gren to replace him after all? "He's weak in the Force. What good is he?"

"He can oversee production temporarily. I need you here, with me," Revan said.

"Why?" he asked, bluntly.

"We've spent too much time on the Star Forge."

Of course, by "we" she meant him. Revan rarely visited the factory. One of the reasons he'd agreed to take the task upon himself was because he'd sensed her dislike of the place. But now he enjoyed it; he certainly didn't want to give it up.

"Gren is incompetent," Malak said sullenly.

"Gren's my best," Revan said, her own temper flaring. "But fine. Suggest an alternative."

"There isn't one," he snapped back. "No one else can be trusted to oversee the Star Forge."

Revan turned away from him, pacing, her night robe fluttering. There was a time when he would have been happy to watch her move, to watch the dark cloth eddy around her, but now all he could see were the fingerprints of a thousand men on her clothes. A thousand Kavars with their faces pressed between her thighs. It was maddening. He forced himself to look away.

At length, the pacing stopped. She said, "I need you. Here. Do you understand?"

Certainly, he understood. It was all too clear. He needed to begin building his own power base—he should have started doing so years ago. Now was not the time to arouse her suspicions. He said, "Yes. I understand."

"Do you?" she asked.

0-0-0

Malak knew razing Telos would get Revan's attention. When she arrived on the Leviathan an aura of anger crackled in the air around her.

The fight began with her saying, "How many times have we maneuvered so Telos wouldn't sustain heavy damages?" but he was tired of her plans, her politics and subterfuge. Time was wasted maintaining trade routes and cordoning off supply worlds. They could strike directly with everything they had an annihilate the Republic once and for all, he argued. And as Revan became angrier and angrier, her temper rising, he felt a strange, loping satisfaction as he pushed forward, hitting all the nerves that mattered.

But he pushed it too far this time—much too far. He took it to a personal level, to that itch that had been grating on him all these months. He said, "You can't see the big picture anymore because you're too distracted with your little playthings."

"What?" she asked, and her expression made it plain that she understood his insinuation perfectly and was giving him an out. He didn't take it.

"Gren, Jax. Whoever else."

Revan's lightsaber ignited in hiss of red.

"How many of them have you fucked?" Malak asked, and she whirled at him.

He attempted to parry and side-stepped, their blades locking. The two guards ran into the room, alerted by the noise, and froze.

"Call General Gren!" one said, and the other hurried out.

They had not dueled in some time, and Malak realized she had gotten better—or perhaps she had always been better—and he was having a hard time defending against her. He swung at her in anger, with brute force, but she was cunning with the blade and he always met energy or air, never flesh.

"How dare you!" she spat. "How dare you! After everything I've done for you!"

"Everything _you've _done for _me_?" he roared, slashing at her so viciously she narrowly had time to block. Her hood fell back. A strand of her hair singed, the burnt smell wafting towards him and vanishing. "All this time you've used me! As you sit in your Admiral's chair, thinking you are so noble, so right. Have you seen your hideous face? You think I don't know what you're doing with the others, with that miserable assassin pet of yours? You're pathetic-a hypocrite, a liar, a whore! You manipulative-"

She swung the blade around, hard and fast, and hit him. Pain seared through his jaw and he dropped, stumbling, his lightsaber clattering to the floor.

Revan screamed.

There was commotion and a flurry of footsteps. He was barely conscious of people clustering around him as intense, burning pain radiated through his face.

"No," Revan said. "No, no, no." She grabbed him, pulling him towards her, and he was only partially conscious of the press of her hands against his face. "Medic!" she screamed. "Get a medic!"

There was more commotion, another flurry of feet, and he felt hands around him.

He did not remember the trip to the infirmary. He woke several times, disoriented and confused, and he distinctly recalled hearing Revan yell, "You fix it, you fix it or you're dead!"

Other voices, unfamiliar voices, stammered in protest. "L-Lord Revan, please understand..."

He recalled nothing else. He was engulfed by a drug-induced haze.

0-0-0

He was becoming accustomed to the mechanical jaw. Eating would always be an indignity, but it hampered little else. The mechanical voice disturbed him and he spoke little. Not that there were many to speak to. Revan's visits to the Leviathan were infrequent, and when she did come to see him, she was unable to look at him.

Was he that hideous?

He didn't care.

It was on Revan's last visit, the last time he saw her as Darth Revan, that she broached the subject of Bastila Shan.

"I've decided to play into their trap. I'll allow the Jedi strike team to board my ship and I'll immobilize Bastila myself. Turning her to our side may take time, but it's time well spent." Revan fell silent for a long moment. As she gazed out the large viewing window he found himself wondering what her corpse would look like floating in space or, more imaginatively, splattered against the hull of the Leviathan. He had his lightsaber, he could strike at her now, but—no. Unwise. Face-to-face combat was not a viable option, as much as he hated to admit it. He would have to wait for the opportune moment. Best to strike quickly from afar.

"I'd like for you to accompany us," she said, turning from the window to face him. "Once we have Bastila we can end this. Once the Republic surrenders..." For an instant, it seemed as though she were going to reach out to touch him, but she abruptly turned away. "Things will be different."

Lies. She couldn't wait to push him out the nearest airlock. As soon as the war was won he was sure she would dispose of him, replace him with whatever fledgling apprentice she'd groomed and coddled behind his back.

"Things can't go back to the way they were, I realize that, but I want to try. Don't you?"

He studied her back. What an actor. There was a time he'd have fallen for it, too, but that time was past. "Of course, Revan," he said, his mechanical voice making the words strangely metallic and guttural. "After the war is over things will be different."

She smiled at him in the reflection of the window, briefly, and all he could think of was the way her back would look with a lightsaber through it.

0-0-0

"The Jedi strike team has boarded Lord Revan's ship," one of the soldiers confirmed.

Malak nodded slowly. He was eager to play his hand,but impatience could ruin even the best-laid plans. Revan had taught him that. He allowed Karath to issue orders as he watched Revan's ship.

After approximately fifteen minutes elapsed there was a flicker of light to the side of Revan's command deck. It was a signal that the Jedi had reached her on the bridge.

"Admiral Karath," Malak said softly. "Intercept and fire upon Revan's ship."

Karath didn't bat an eye. "Do you have a preferred target, sir?"

"The bridge."

Karath made the order. One of the gunners hesitated and his windpipe was crushed. The others readily complied, and a barrage of red lasers fell upon the ship. Lights began to wink out on Revan's ship as systems failed and, deep in his core, he felt a tremor in the Force. Revan's own light had winked out, just as surely as her ship's had. Triumph surged through him.

When it was over, and the Republic fleet had rallied its survivors and escaped into hyperspace, Admiral Karath approached him.

"Lord Malak," the Admiral said. "Shall I send a squadron to recover the body?"

Malak was pleased at this titular acknowledgment but did not let it show. "No, Admiral. Revan is gone. I sensed it." Now that the act that had dominated his thoughts for so long was complete he took pause. He had often wondered how it would feel to free himself from her burdensome yoke and assume his rightful place. As he searched within, he found only one feeling: that of power. It was the only thing that could ever matter.

He had General Gren brought to him. When the General arrived, bloodied and restrained, he spat at Malak's feet.

"You aren't half the commander she was," Gren hissed.

Malak decapitated him with a single strike.

Revan's mistake had been to allow him to cultivate a power base and the loyalty of men such as Saul Karath. He would not make the same mistake by leaving her allies alive.

He immediately purged the upper echelons of the Sith Fleet of any Revan loyalists, including a number of high-ranking generals. Those obedient to him were promoted in their places. They would gain experience soon enough; for now, he needed subservience.

In addition to the generals Revan's personal assassins were among the first to go. Malak had a mental list of men who were probably Revan's apprentices in training. He ordered them all executed, and placed bounties on the heads of the survivors. For Jax Rand, the bounty was double. Best leave nothing to chance. He would not be usurped so easily.

The battle plans were reviewed and discarded. Revan had always held back Star Forge production, but Malak ordered that output be doubled. With the resources of the Star Forge at his complete disposal he had the strength to hit the Republic hard and he ordered aggressive action towards the capitol planets.

Revan was willing to make concessions to end the war early. Malak was not. He wanted total and utter domination.

0-0-0

Anything was possible with the Force. It was one of his first lessons as a padawan so many years ago and his training in the dark side had only reinforced it. But Revan, alive? He would not have believed it if the words hadn't come from Karath, but they had, and Karath would not have been so bold unless he was certain.

Malak walked briskly down the main corridor, his face bathed in red emergency light. He'd sent soldiers to the bridge but he knew Revan wouldn't be there. She would find him. It was the way of these things.

When a pair of blast doors ahead of him slid open and three figures emerged, he hesitated in spite of himself. It had been long since he'd seen Revan with a clear face, free of the effects of the dark side. She was older and weathered. The eyes that fastened on him were the eyes of a stranger.

He reached out with a squeeze of the Force, immobilizing Bastila and the vaguely-familiar man and rendering them both inert and impotent. He wanted no distractions.

"So it's true," he said. "I can hardly believe my eyes. Why did the Jedi spare you?"

Revan sized him up. "What greater weapon is there," she asked, "than to turn an enemy to your cause?"

He had to admit that the Jedi Council had done quite a job. They'd recruited a Dark Lord of the Sith, apparently completely unwitting, and had roped her into leading them all the way to the Star Forge. There was some other personality standing there, some stranger he'd never met, but just underneath the surface he could make out the faint lines and pulses of Revan. It was really something.

He could see she was struggling, trying to remember. She said, "Why?" and he came at her with everything he had.

In a way, it was almost like the old times. She didn't have the skills of Darth Revan in her prime, but she was definitely, unequivocally Revan and they fell into a rhythm that wasn't too different from their training days on Dantooine. He hit harder, but she hit faster.

He brought his saber down in a sharp arc and she slid under it, forcing him slightly off balance as she struck from his other side. It was a trick she'd used successfully on him in the old days and encountering it now gave him a queer sensation, but he muscled past it and struck at her head, narrowly missing.

He used blast doors to his advantage, shutting them in her face and boxing her off when her attacks became too relentless. Reinforcements were coming, he knew, and his best chance was to keep her preoccupied until they arrived. He would not have chosen the Leviathan for a confrontation. He was weaker away from the Star Forge.

Had they gone on without interruption he wasn't sure who would have won. But there was an interruption.

When Bastila sprang up beside him, her haughty face marked with determination, Malak almost laughed. He knew Jedi pride when he saw it.

So did Revan. His former master opened her mouth to say—what?

No? Stop? Don't?

It didn't matter. Revan lunged for them but was not quick enough. Bastila struck the blast door controls, slamming the door shut and permanently separating them. It would take high-grade explosives to open it from the outside. With the threat of Revan immobilized he was able to focus on the young Jedi at hand.

Bastila was well versed in forms and techniques, but she lacked experience and raw power. He beat her into submission almost as an afterthought, bringing his lightsaber down on her again and again as she struggled to shake him off with her flickering dual blades. He needed only to reach her with his bare hands, to seize her by the throat and slam her down onto the metal floor, to end it.

0-0-0

The most prideful Jedi were always the ones that eventually broke. He'd learned that. The less dogmatic ones had a certain flexibility and an often surprising tolerance for pain and punishment. But the rigid, the righteous, always had a breaking point. And always, _always_, they were neatly snapped in two.

So it was with Bastila.

He'd been assigned to handle Bastila in the beginning. Years ago, though it seemed farther back than it actually was, he'd agreed to handle the reeducation of Bastila once Revan captured her. He found it fitting to follow his old master's final command now.

He hadn't always been a torturer. In fact, in the beginning he'd been staunchly opposed to it. It was Revan the pragmatist who first allowed Force torture on the Jedi prisoners who refused to join her. She'd drawn a line—no physical beating, no rapes (though rapes happened, just as beatings happened, and everyone knew it and no one was ever punished for the infraction). Revan was insistent that pure Force manipulation was the only way to turn unwilling Jedi to her side.

She'd been right but she was never very good at it. She was primarily skilled in the more subtle manipulations of men and was no good at outright forcible coercion. She always missed the special spot. He remembered her stalking out of the brig after those first attempts, her lips pressed into a thin line. She never went back.

Malak was disgusted to learn he actually had a knack for it. He always knew just where to poke or prod, just which way to lean. Initially, he agreed to do it with the honorable notion that he was turning the unwilling more quickly, more humanely, than the Sith assassins that took up the work. But he had to admit that later he did it just for the thrill of dominating others. At his lowest point, when he'd lost his jaw and completely discarded any semblance of love towards Revan, torture had been a very productive outlet.

Breaking Bastila was therapeutic.

When he was finished he could only admire his handiwork. Bastila Shan was the embodiment of the Sith—hungry for power and thirty for knowledge. She was a fair replacement for Bandon, though Malak had no intention of keeping her alive long enough to surpass his old apprentice. She would be a useful ally against the Republic and a willing obstacle between himself and Revan but, once the war was over and the Republic crushed, her usefulness would come to an end. Her battle meditation made her too dangerous to keep alive.

0-0-0

Finally, they met on the Star Forge.

Malak was not surprised to find himself face to face with his old master one last time. As soon as Karath had delivered the message that Revan was alive, he's known this day would come. In the end, nothing could have prevented their reunion—not his dark Jedi and assassins, not Bastila Shan, not the Star Forge.

It was an ugly fight. He exploded a glass tank in her face, covering her with nicks and cuts from glass shards. She threw him down the metal stairs. They both ripped the life Force from the comatose Jedi to replenish their own strength.

In the end, when he knew it was over, he had that brief moment of introspection that all dying men probably had. Could it have ended differently?

He flashed back to two young padawans exploring the crystal caves, eager to test their limits and learn their potential. One was hungry for affection and adoration, but what did the other want? What had she ever wanted?

As he looked up at Revan's face, bloody, bruised, and mangled, as he sensed the tendrils of the Dark Side still radiating from her, he knew the answer. It couldn't have ended any other way.

0-0-0_"He left quite a mess." ―G0-T0 _

THE END 


End file.
